


Silent Night In Gotham

by anthonyjstark



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Asylum, Arkham Asylum is Terrible, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt Joker (DCU), M/M, Not Really Character Death, Pining Joker (DCU), Protective Bruce Wayne, Slow Burn, Team Up, Tired Bruce Wayne, Well no one important, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 150,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthonyjstark/pseuds/anthonyjstark
Summary: "All these years, and I don't know who he is any more than he knows who I am."After nearly a month of being awol, the Joker pops back up in Batman's life with claims that he had been taken hostage. If it weren't for someone trying to destroy Wayne and Batman's careers the very same week, Bruce might have thought it was another joke.With killings, drug rings, and terrible humour on the table, Batman and the Joker are forced to work together to solve the problems connecting them.Who knows? Maybe they'll even enjoy it along the way.
Relationships: Batman/Joker, Batman/The Joker
Comments: 130
Kudos: 552





	1. With A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to my first ever Batman fic! 
> 
> This will be a long story, so if you like slow burns, dancing, some holiday themes and romance (with a spice of angst) this is the place for you! 
> 
> I'm not particularly wonderful at writing tags or summaries so if you have clicked on this anyhow I thank you for your willingness to read this 
> 
> I apologise for any spelling or repetitive errors in advance. Please tell me if there are and I will do my best to fix them.
> 
> My tumblr is anthonyjstark! Feel free to come scream at me there or here, and please review. It's the only way I'll keep writing this. 
> 
> Enjoy!

On some level he knew what was happening.

He could hear it. There was a ruffling noise, like towels on a hanger whipping in the summer breeze, and the muffled yell of someone below him.

At least, he assumed they were below him. He couldn't see anyone above, but it was fairly difficult to decipher anything when the scenery changed within a second and his eyelids were half way shut.

Joker tried to blink against the burn. It only served to make it worse, much to his disdain. His lashes had a thin layer of ice on them. He always assumed that movies were over exaggerating when that happened. Who would have guessed it would happen to him?

He tried to move his hands down his body and press onto the wound on his side, but even that proved to be a difficult task. His arms kept wanting to go up against the current. Gravity was not a fan of movement in the slightest. 

If he could laugh at the unfairness he would have, but his oxygen was rapidly depleting from his lungs; sucked out with every breath he took. The blood clogging his throat wasn't going to help with his situation either. 

It was all happening at hyper speed. He had done this before on many occasions, and each time had been a thrill. Joker and the Batman, dancing on the rooftops in subtle steps and hard ground until a properly placed misstep where they no longer were. 

That was when the air picked up on his feet. The moment when Joker roared with laughter as the Bat dropped down after him, and only him. Hands grabbed at his lapels and tugged them both back to safety. 

Never before had he been bleeding out from an internal organ. He had been stabbed once or twice, obviously, but it wasn't like it was fatal. It had never made him see stars and choke as the metallic flavour climbed up his throat and coated his tongue. He was never in any real danger before.

Batman was always there to save him. 

While Joker was aware that he was mere seconds away from hitting the ground, it felt like hours away. He could still see the vague shapes of the movement up top. A form he recognised well, the same one he had fought so often with its pointed ears and swooshing cape that he knew was not there this time.

The persistent yelling of the other man was lost in the whipping wind, but Joker could recognise the faint noise. Any other day and he would have swung around and shot the bastard, if only to make him shut up.

That was the problem, though, wasn't it? Joker couldn't do that. It wasn't any other day, and it never would be again.

He spluttered when his stomach rolled against the heat of a fresh wound. His suit was stained in red by that point. It wasn't even a nice outfit. He couldn't even die looking decent.

The world was really giving him a big fuck you as a goodbye present. Joker would be the first to admit he deserved it - he wasn't blind - but, still, he had at least hoped that his farewell would be somewhat more exciting. Maybe with fireworks. 

Batman wouldn't mind how he looked. He never minded anymore. With any luck he would swoop down amongst the crowd and carry Joker out bridal style, tears streaming down his cheeks and completely crestfallen. _Lost_ without the Joker in his life.

Joker closed his eyes. A snowflake fell onto his cheek, burned in that way that the cold does, then soaked in like the rest of the winter air had.

At that point he was frozen to the touch. Joker knew, somewhere, that he was still clutching desperately at his fresh injury, but he could no longer feel it. He didn't even know why he was trying. The ground would catch up before he was even close to losing enough blood for it to be a risk. 

Gotham would be safer without him. It stung a little, knowing that the Bat would be grateful about that. This city was his most precious possession, in the end. It was the Bat's prime focal point.

Joker had to smile. The cool night air physically ached against his skin. He couldn't help it. If his disappearance would make Bruce happy, then he was content.

He let himself relax and listen to the gentle noise of the wind whipping passed his ears; allowed it to consume his very being. Joker chuckled. His body reacted by shuddering in agony. Joker couldn't find it in himself to care.

He was going to die anyway.

[TWO MONTHS PREVIOUSLY - WAYNE ENTERPRISES - 9:36 A.M.] 

Bruce pushed a smile up on his cheeks. 

He waved at anyone greeting with the occasional answer to a question. The tie around his neck felt tight, and he resisted the urge to tug on it. Only five minutes had passed since he had entered the building and he was already having a long day. Night time couldn't possibly have come any sooner.

The last two weeks hadn't been kind, to say the very least. The Bat Signal had been up nearly every night for fourteen days, Bruce had had to show up to more conferences and events than he had in the past three months put together, and through all of that he had barely gotten over twenty hours of sleep. Luckily he had gotten decent enough with coverup from late night escapades that his eye bags - or bruises - weren't prominent. If anything, a little rest would have helped them go down more.

" _If you had simply went to those meetings when you were originally supposed to three months ago you wouldn't be having this problem at all."_

_"Alfred, we've been over this. I was busy-"_

_"And now you're sleep deprived, grumpy-"_

_"-I'm not grumpy-"_

_"...and you still don't have time to get the much needed sleep your body requires. There."_

_Alfred patted off the shoulders of Bruce's coat and slapped away the hand moving to loosen the tie. Bruce dropped his hands to his sides and pressed his lips together._

_"Don't worry about me, Al. I'll be fine."_

_Alfred's chest heaved with a breath. Somehow the wrinkles on his face seemed much more prominent then than they had in a while. Bruce's stomach twisted._

_"I always worry about you, Bruce," Alfred added gently._

_They both went silent. Other than the occasional squeak of a bat or the drip of water, neither said a word. Bruce's eyes went down to the floor. He swallowed harshly._

_Eventually, Alfred cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders. His fingers worked to button his own coat, then checked his watch._

_"You should get on then, Master B," he suggested. "Wouldn't want to be late now, would we?"_

_Bruce pulled absently down at his coat sleeves. He showed Alfred a small smile. "No, we wouldn't."_

"Ah, g'morning, Mr. Wayne. Good to see you again. How are you today?"

Bruce stopped his thoughts to tune to reality, and he took a deep breath. Any memory of the morning vanished to some dark hole in the back of his mind. He beamed, and turned to the man speaking with him. Albert Cunningham from the accounting department. He was a friendly person over all. A family man with two kids and a wife. Someone Bruce personally hired for the company. 

"Ah, Mr. Cunningham! Good morning to you," Bruce greeted. "I'm doing well, thank you. And you?"

Albert's wrinkled face screwed up in a light hearted laugh. "Great, thanks. Just came up to get some coffee." 

He lifted the cup and took a sip as he passed by. Bruce forced a half genuine chuckle and waved back at Albert, who did the same with his free hand. 

_Nice guy,_ Bruce thought to himself. He turned back around to face his office. 

The moment he put his hand on the handle, the doors burst open. The suddenness of it nearly got Bruce smacked square in the nose, but he reacted quickly enough that only his foot was hit.

Someone squeaked in what sounded like surprise. Papers flew into the air and fell to Bruce's feet. He took a step back with a heavy blink. His eyes almost didn't reopen. He gave himself a small shake, clearing his head, then went to look for the source of both the noise and papers.

A woman knelt down picking up anything that had fallen. Her hair shaded her face, but her glasses slipped down her nose, which made her hand shoot up to adjust them quickly. Something like mumbling could be heard from her.

Bruce bent down. He must have startled her because when he came down to help, she gasped and flinched. Her palm pressed to her forehead, and she chuckled with a heavy awkwardness, and smiled at Bruce. He raised his brows and smiled back. 

"Are you all right? I didn't mean to frighten you," he asked, searching her face. 

He didn't recognise her. Odd, he thought. He knew everyone who worked for his company. It was something he always took precaution to look over. 

The woman nodded and then shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, I hadn't realised anyone had been coming in and I should have slowed down and now there's this _mess_ -"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Bruce interrupted. He gave her a reassuring smile, which seemed to relax her some. "It's perfectly fine. Really," he added, hoping that would calm her completely.

It seemed to do the trick. She let out a heavy sigh and tucked her hand behind her ear with a much softer smile. A few people passing looked at them in confusion, but Bruce passed them off. Whoever this stranger was was more important.

"I ran into you with a door and I haven't even introduced myself," she joked lightly. The hand not clutching stray papers stuck out. "I'm Mabel Sacarello."

Taking the hand, Bruce smiled. "Bruce Wayne."

Within seconds, Mabel's eyes widened. Her mouth fell open and she pulled her hand back to cover it.

"Mr. Wayne!" she hissed, blinking away the initial shock. She looked up at the doors clearly labeled with his name and gaped more. She returned to Bruce. "Gosh, of course, I should have realised! I'm so sorry, again, I should have been paying attention-"

Bruce waited patiently this time for her to come down. He held up a placating hand after a while, and she snapped her jaw shut.

"It's fine, Ms. Sacarello. Thank you for the apology, but I assure you, it isn't needed. If anything I should be saying all of this to you for making you drop all of these papers."

He reached down to help her pick them up, and he took out a file, but her hand landed on his before he even had the chance to look at it. Bruce met her gaze in question. Mabel smiled.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne, really, but I have it under control." 

She slid the file and the last few papers into her grasp, then stood. Bruce followed only a second after. Once they were up he took the chance to get a full look over.

Mabel's hair fell over her shoulders in long, soft tufts, and guarded her face from most view. From any other angle but straight on it would be difficult to identify her. Large glasses framed her with a heavy prescription that made her eyes huge in comparison to normal, though it didn't make her any less attractive. 

Bruce blinked. His eyes traveled to his office where light streamed in the large windows backing the room. 

"Care to come in?" he offered. 

Despite the exhaustion dragging his bones into the ground, Bruce felt the need to talk with her. His fingers were twitching in that prickling way he felt when his senses were ticking. Something was off about the whole situation. Whatever it was he had to keep an eye on her.

Mabel seemed to hesitate. She bit down on her lip, looking like she rather wanted to refuse. Her eyes even flicked to look over his shoulder towards the elevator before meeting his once more.

Bruce flashed another gentle smile. His face was starting to ache from how often he had done it today - and it was only 10:30 in the morning.

"Please," he pressed. "I insist."

He added a sharp tone to the words that made them sound almost like a command. He rarely used his CEO voice, but if any time were good to use it, then seemed like a perfectly reasonable time.

Mabel stared for a short moment. Her body twisted to walk into the office as soon as she had had enough, leaving Bruce with a heavy frown. He wiped it away as fast as he could and followed her in. He closed the doors behind them and walked passed her to indicate to his desk. She nodded and smiled tightly.

Bruce made his way over, only noticing the full coffee mug sitting on his desk when he made it over. He slowed and pointed at in question. Mabel's embarrassed laugh answered. 

"Right, um... I was sort of hoping you would be here? I wanted to make a good first impression with the new boss, so, um..." She indicated to the cup then clapped her hands together when she noticed they were shaking slightly.

Bruce noted the action. He sat down in his chair - he suppressed the urge to groan out of pure relief - and watched as she took a seat across from him.

"Why thank you," he started. "That's very considerate of you." He decided not to bring up the fact that he doesn't drink coffee.

Mabel tucked her hair behind her ear again. Bruce watched with interest. A nervous tick, perhaps?

"Of course, Mr. Wayne. I try, y'know. Always nice to have someone nice on your side!" she exclaimed, smiled, then cleared her throat and looked down at her lap.

Bruce licked his lips. His hand snuck up under his desk to beep the small button located in it. 

"Oh, no, please," he interjected. "Call me Bruce."

Mabel's face lit up with a sort of smile. Bruce leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs.

"Of course," said Mabel. She finally met his eyes without looking away.

Bruce humphed and rolled his shoulders back. "I'm going to assume you're you new to Wayne Enterprises then?" he questioned.

"You assume correct, s- Bruce." She blushed, and Bruce smiled. "Er- I, um, I start today, actually. I wanted to come greet you. Which, I already told you..."

Bruce locked his fingers together under his desk and squeezed. This hadn't been cleared through him. Technically it didn't have to be, but even then the board knew he liked to be informed of these things. Lucius would have told him as well. Even Alfred would have been able to tell him, seeing as he had been watching the computers back in the cave all this time.

Just as he was about to bring this up, Mabel continued on, seeming nervous under the sudden silence. Bruce realised he must have gone quiet for too long. He'd been told he had to work on that.

"...an intern though. I'm just working with this until I can make my way through college." 

Bruce tilted his chin up in interest. An unpaid internship, of course. Without actually being an employee for the company there was no way she would be registered under the Bat computer's analysing systems. 

Even then, something felt wrong. Being an intern, he supposed bringing coffee for the boss on the first day made sense, but hadn't anyone told her that he hadn't shown up lately? And how big was the coincidence that she started on the same day he spontaneously decided to come back?

Bruce beamed and pushed himself up to stand again. Mabel made a cooing sound and copied the movement. 

"It was very nice meeting you, Ms. Sacarello. I'm glad to have you on the team. Unfortunately, I have important paperwork I need to get to right now, but if you ever need to ask a question or want to hit me with a door again, please, feel free."

He made his way around the desk to stand next to it, and Mabel forced herself to laugh at what she assumed was a joke. She nodded. Her hair fell back forward. Once more, she shook hands with him.

"Thank you, Bruce," she said. "I'll be sure to stop by if I need anything."

Her hand dropped, and she took to holding the files again. Almost protectively. Bruce put that in the front of his brain.

He nodded shortly and waved as she exited the office. Mabel turned to smile over her shoulder before closing the doors. 

When she finally left and the room was left absent, Bruce sighed and slumped against his desk. He ran his hands over his face and groaned.

First day back in two weeks and he was still on his toes. All he had planned on doing that day was showing up for appearance's sake, sitting down in his office, and maybe take a nap. It really hadn't been that complicated. He wasn't even Batman during the day time. Yet, there he was, five minutes within entering the building and investigating a possible threat.

He spread his fingers to glance down at the now cold beverage on his work space. The creamer had risen to the top, making an odd white swirl. Bruce moved his hands up to pull at his hair, and he breathed out a long, deep sigh.

"Having a bad morning so far?"

Bruce's hand immediately shot down to his desk drawer to grab some sort of weapon, but he soon stopped. He dropped the letter opener and closed his eyes.

"I'm going to say yes, then."

"Lucius," Bruce voiced. He looked at the man approaching him and gave the same lame smirk he gave to Alfred earlier in the morning. "Sorry."

Lucius Fox stopped a few feet from where Bruce stood. He watched as the Wayne moved idly around his desk. Concern was growing on his expression with every second.

"Are you all right, Bruce? I heard you talking with that young lady, but I didn't hear anything wrong. Was there a reason you called?"

Bruce had forgotten about that. The button on the bottom of his desk had given Lucius an alert to come up. In the midst of all the thinking he must have dazed off again. 

Maybe everyone had a point about that.

Bruce leaned his palms flat against his desk and met Lucius' gaze. "How much did you hear?"

Lucius raised a brow. "Only that she's new and excited to be part of the company."

The coffee rippled as Bruce tapped the desk. He worked his jaw. Most of the conversation he had with Mabel had been just that once they had entered the office itself, so Lucius hadn't missed much. If that's what he had heard, then...

Perhaps he was looking far too in to all of this. It wasn't like he had slept well recently, and judging by the fact that he just pulled a blade on someone he's known the voice of for years must have said a lot about what his state of mind was.

What were the chances something was up with her? Low, undoubtedly. She was only in college. A shy girl hits her new boss with a door and then makes a fool out of herself in front of him, there's no wonder she would be skittish. Hell, Bruce would have been.

He let out a breath. "And you're certain that's all?" he asked, his gut tugging at the mere thought of dropping the subject.

Lucius squinted at him. "Yes, Bruce. That's all. Are you sure you're all right? When was the last time you slept?"

Bruce shook his head and scratched his cheek. He sat in his chair. "No, no, I'm fine. Thank you, Lucius. Sorry I called you up for nothing."

A few steps forward and Lucius had sat down across from Bruce. He waved it off.

"I haven't seen you in a long while, Bruce," he said. "I don't mind a bit. Even if it was because your sleep deprived brain got paranoid of an unpaid intern."

Bruce made a deep gutteral noise and rested his head in his hands. Above him he could hear Lucius struggling not to laugh, and he tugged down a frown.

"You and Alfred live off of my pain, don't you?" he moaned, but couldn't help the soft smile when Lucius barked out.

Slowly, Bruce's own shoulders began to shake with soft laughter mixing in with Lucius'. The pair sat and bantered for a bit, catching up on the little details. How was Alfred doing anyhow? What are your kids up to? Anything exciting been happening while I was gone? 

It felt normal.

Bruce's lips quirked up in a small smirk as Lucius went on about some story or another. His pulse had finally settled to a healthy human pace, and his fog addled brain had cleared some. Even the lead heavy limbs holding him down seemed to have lightened up a bit. Maybe Alfred was right when he said a little human contact with an old friend could be healing.

"But really," Lucius chuckled. His voice went more serious, and his expression followed soon after. "Are you all right?"

The change in atmosphere wasn't drastic, but somehow Bruce still felt disappointed that the light hearted tone had disappeared. 

"What makes you ask?" he replied in turn. It was a terrible question with an obvious answer, he knew, but it felt like the only option to answer with.

Lucius eyed Bruce's face. His fingers laced together. "I've known you for long enough now that I know the signs of exhaustion on you, Bruce. Even with the extra help."

He indicated to the makeup around his eyes and cheeks. Bruce flushed at the note. 

"It's been a busy two weeks is all," he answered simply. 

A long stare answered Bruce. He met the gaze with his own blank eyes. Lucius' lips pressed into a discontent frown, but he didn't seem in the mood to argue. Something in Bruce lightened with this.

Unfortunately, that also meant the end of a conversation. As much as Bruce hated to say it, it had been far too long since he had spoken with Lucius, and the talk they had just shared didn't feel content enough at all. It had to have ended at some point, though, he supposed.

Lucius sighed and stood. He grunted, then smiled. "It was nice talking with you, Bruce. I've missed this."

The smile Bruce showed him was almost sad. He nodded. "Yeah. Me too."

Again, Lucius chuckled. He patted Bruce's shoulder in an all too friendly way. 

"Get some rest, will you? You look like the living dead," Lucius added. 

Bruce's face contorted, and he looked down at his hands. "Thanks, Lucius. I appreciate that."

Lucius shrugged and back peddled to the doors. "Hey, just telling the truth!"

Just as Lucius was about to exit the office, Bruce looked back up and cleared his throat. 

"Uh- Hold up a second, Lucius."

The hand resting on the doorknob fell. Lucius turned back to look at Bruce with a perplexed look on his face. Instead of persisting, however, he waited patiently for Bruce to continue. 

Grateful for this, Bruce slumped. "Would you mind checking up on Mabel Sacarello's background for me? There's something about her that doesn't settle right with me."

Within a second, Lucius' expression softened. He nodded once. "I'll send any data I find to Alfred for you."

Bruce, having not even realised he had been holding it, sighed in relief. Some of the lines of his face smoothed.

"Thank you, Lucius. It means a lot."

Lucius smiled. "Anytime, Bruce."

The moment the doors closed behind Lucius, Bruce leaned back in his chair and let it rock for a moment. His gaze shifted over to the clock, and a frown fell over him. Surprise settled deep in his bones.

12:30? he questioned. Somehow he and Lucius had talked for nearly two hours. But that couldn't be right. He had only arrived a few minutes ago. The clock must have been off. 

With suspicion prickling in him, Bruce checked his own wrist watch to be certain. Surely enough, it was half an hour passed noon. Had they really been catching up for that long? That never happened. 

Just like an alarm, the ear piece he had on buzzed. Bruce's brow furrowed, and he clicked the talk button. 

"Alfred?" he asked. "Is everything all right?" 

There was a huff. "Of course you have forgotten all ready. Typical," was all Alfred said in response. 

Bruce waited for him to continue with confusion lingering behind him. He didn't bring up the sass in Alfred's tone. By then he had gotten used to it. 

"I wanted to remind you that you have a meeting with Marcus Willis over lunch. Knowing you, I figured it had slipped your mind." 

_Shit_. That had completely gone over his head. Sometimes Bruce couldn't help but think that Alfred knew him too well. 

Sighing, Bruce scratched his neck. "When and where?" 

He looked to the clock again. Perhaps he should have had that coffee. That way he could have held up at least some sort of energy for this meeting. 

Alfred spoke with quick precision. 

"One O'clock at Falkner's Diner. You best hurry, Bruce." 

Bruce was standing before Alfred had even finished the sentence. He gathered anything that he needed to, then stopped to eye the coffee. It looked even more unappealing cold. He threw it in the trash. 

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce continued as he walked out of the door. He waved off handedly at an employee. Then, with haste, added,"I don't know what I would do without you." 

He could practically hear Alfred's smug smirk across the city. "Get on now, Master Bruce. I'll see you tonight." 

Bruce humphed. He pressed the down button on the elevator, and watched the doors slide shut. 

"See you tonight." 

_\----_

Luckily enough for him, traffic was not bad at all. 

For once in his life Bruce had gotten a shine of light down on him. Even with sleep shifting into his sight, it seemed the world had decided to give him a chance at not completely messing up the day. 

Now if he could stay awake through the conversation, the day would be going absolutely splendid. 

Bruce pulled in to an empty parking space outside the resteraunt. He locked the vehicle once he got out, and ignored the looks he received as he walked in. 

It wasn't a fancy place. It was odd, in a way, to see that. Whenever he had work meetings outside of Wayne Enterprises, the place they went tended to be some big shot club or something along those lines only for the city's most elite. 

Yet, there he was, walking in to a downtown diner. It was no wonder any passerby looked at him with awe. Most did anyhow, but it still must have been a shock to anyone to see Bruce Wayne, Playboy Billionaire, to enter a facility such as Falkner's. With a suit and all. 

It was a quaint place. There were tables and booths all around. A countertop stretched in the front of the place, and televisions were hooked up in the corners. All in all, Bruce took a liking to it. 

" _Is that Bruce Wayne?"_

_"What's a guy like him doing here?"_

__"Dick probably came to flaunt his money ridden ass at all of us. Tch._ " _

__

__

_Bruce ignored all the negative comments flying at him, and instead chose to go over to the countertop. The waiter standing behind it stopped to look at him. For once, they didn't seem to have an opinion on him. Bruce smiled in relief._

"Hi, er- I was wondering if you know if my associate might be here all ready? He's got blond hair, a beard..." 

The waiter shrugged and pressed his lips together. "Sorry, Mr. Wayne, I don't know. But I could get you set up at a table for when he does arrive? If not I can get you a drink and you can wait up here." 

Bruce silently thanked whatever entity who was watching him for giving him a nice person. Most people either swooned over him or hated him. This - he squinted at their name tag - _Miles_ , was some sort of blessing. 

Along with the lack of traffic, something odd was going on with his luck. Bruce only hoped it would last. 

A genuine beam fell over him. "That would be great. Thank you, Miles. I appreciate it." 

Miles shrugged once more, but it remained with the same nonchalance as before. He smiled back. "Sure thing. If ya need anything, don't hesitate to wave me down." 

With a nod in agreement, Bruce watched as Miles made his way around the countertop to take someone else's order. He heaved a breath and took a seat at one of the empty booths situated in the very corner of the room. 

A few eyes were still on him, but Bruce easily pretended he hadn't noticed. He fixed his focus on the menu Miles had slid under his nose. They shared another glance before Bruce paged through it with little interest. He wasn't all that hungry. Then again, he could all ready hear Alfred hounding on him for not eating. 

Before he could make his final decision, something much more important caught Bruce's attention. And, based on the fact that all gazes had been turned towards the television, everyone else was thinking the same. 

**"...three weeks since Gotham's most notorious criminal, The Joker, has broken out of Arkham. No sight of the killer clown has been reported, leaving us all questioning the same thing: What is he planning next? And how will Batman stop him this time? "**

Bruce's forehead creased. He eyed the ongoing news report, hoping for more information about it. The last two weeks had admittedly been a search for the Joker more than fighting other criminals. Other than a scuffle with Penguin's men, he hadn't actually done anything but look for the clown. 

The report was correct though. There had been no sign of him. He had even went to Harley out of sheer desperation about two days back. She hadn't any clue where he was. For a moment he had considered that she lied about that. It only took him a moment to realise she wouldn't do that. Harley could be difficult when she didn't want to tell the truth, but when Batman had asked she had stated right away that she didn't know. If that weren't true, she'd have wanted to have more fun with it. 

The clown was off the grid. Which, based off of anything that had to do with what Bruce knew of Joker - which, honestly, wasn't all that much - was not something to look forward to. Whatever he was up to, it wasn't good. 

Someone slapped the table, making Bruce snap out of his daze. He zeroed in on the man sitting down across from him. 

"Phew," Marcus huffed. He shook himself out of his soaked coat. "So sorry I was late. It got nasty out there so suddenly I got stuck out on the road. Hopefully you haven't been waiting too long?" 

Bruce snuck a look out the glass door leading out. Rain pelted down in icy sheets. Bruce seemed to have arrived just in time. Once he looked back to Marcus, he shook his head. 

"No, not long at all. No worries." 

The relieved breath Marcus gave ended with one of the man's blissful smiles. "Wonderful. I would hate to have left you waiting. Have you at least ordered anything?" 

Bruce laughed with as much humour as he could put in to it. Once more, he shook his head. "No, I haven't." 

"Well, we must fix that then, shouldn't we? Er, Miles!" Marcus shouted. He waved over to Miles, who scoffed and made his way over. 

"I'm comin', I'm comin'," Miles drawled. He looked between them. "What can I get you boys?" 

Bruce started to answer, but Marcus cut in before he could get a word in. 

"Two house special drinks to start off with, please." He beamed. 

Miles bumped Marcus's shoulder as he turned. "Sure thing, man. Be right back." 

Bruce met Marcus' gaze with a questioning eyebrow. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. 

"All right, all right, I get you," Marcus prodded with a slight chuckle. "Just trust me here, Wayne. It's good stuff." 

For a moment, Bruce almost refused. He never liked people ordering for him. Most of the time it was either dangerous or just straight up terrible. Then, out of no where, Miles came back with two mugs of hot chocolate topped high with whipped cream. 

Bruce stared at. If he said he wasn't shocked it would have been a lie. In front of him he heard Marcus chuckle. 

"Best cocoa in Gotham, if you ask me." Marcus took a sip of his. "Miles' son made the recipe. Vanilla infused." 

Hesitant but curious, Bruce humphed and took a drink of his own. To his utter surprise, it tasted far better than he had thought it would. Based on the grin Marcus had, his face must have expressed that. 

"Like it?" 

Bruce had to admit - it was pretty great. "Yes, I do," he answered through another sip. He set the mug down. With regret, he forced himself to go on. 

"But that's not why we're here today." 

Also seeming downtrodden by this, Marcus set his own hot chocolate down. "Yes, I suppose you're right. To business then." 

Bruce watched as Marcus reached down next to them and placed a brief case on the table. He opened it with Wayne's own thumb scan technology and spun it around for Bruce to see when it clicked open. 

Business plans, engineering insights, building renovations, costs; they were all in there. Bruce sifted through it all with Marcus as his professional aid. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Bruce and Marcus discussing any decisions or plans needed for Wayne Enterprises. After about an hour they ordered food - and more cocoa - having both been struck by a sudden ravaging hunger. They took a break then. 

Bruce ate a fry and laughed at one of Marcus' jokes. He was better company than most of the money concerned businessmen who worked for him. Having been expecting a soul draining luncheon, Bruce was more than welcome to accept Marcus' expertise. 

"So," Bruce started. He took a drink of his cocoa. "Of all places, why here? It's an interesting place of venue for a work related discussion with your boss." 

Marcus' cheeks went rosy in the way they did when he smiled. "Ah, right. I've been coming to Falkner's since I was a little kid. When I got in to your company, Miles was first to celebrate my success. Anything big in my life has happened here. Figured talking business opportunities here shouldn't be any different. 

Besides," he added quickly. He shot a charming smile. "It's quiet." 

Bruce looked around the diner again. Over the past two hours he had gotten a decent feel of their surroundings, and he had to say that Marcus had a right to think it was nice. If he didn't have to keep up his prissy image this would have been his type of place. 

With a raise of his glass, Bruce smiled. "Cheers to that." 

Despite looking a bit surprised, Marcus returned the look. He clinked his mug with Bruce's, and they both downed the rest of them. 

After that everything went much smoother. It had been going well before, but with both of their focus's regained, the two made progress a lot faster than Bruce could have imagined. 

It was quarter to five when Bruce got a call. 

He took out his phone, saw the caller ID, and looked at Marcus with regret. Somehow, Bruce still hadn't been expecting the casual response. 

"It's perfectly fine," he shrugged. "This can wait." 

Bruce gaped for only second before shaking himself. Even then Marcus remained a nice guy. He scooted out of the booth, and - after finding a corner away from prying eyes - answered the cell. 

"Hey, Lucius. What's up?" 

Lucius seemed to hesitate. Bruce's eyebrows pulled together for what seemed like the millionth time that day. 

"Lucius?" he repeated. 

A shaky breath. Then- 

"Good news or bad news first?" 

Bruce had to wait for a second. Based on the way Lucius has responded, the question seemed more of a _worse or worst_ sort of question. 

"Good," he decided on at last. Maybe he was misinterpreting the tone. His luck had been decent up until then. Why should it change then? 

Of course, being him, that meant it was going to go down at a full speed plummet. 

"You were right," Lucius answered. "About Ms. Sacarello. She's a real person, that is her name, and she does work here. However..." 

Bruce's muscles tensed. "However?" 

Slowly, Lucius found the words. "Her life stops ten years ago. There's nothing at all, Bruce. She just appeared. Not only that, but- It's hidden well. Anyone looking for most information wouldn't notice." 

Lowering his eyes to the ground, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "But you weren't looking for most information." 

The line went silent on both ends. Outside, Bruce could hear the sound of Miles cooking away in the kitchen. Suddenly his lunch wasn't setting right. If this was the better news, how could the other possibly be considered bad? 

Steadying himself, Bruce looked back up. He tucked his free arm underneath the other to rest his elbow on it. "The bad news?" 

This time, Bruce heard Lucius's breathing hitch. Bile rose against Bruce's tongue with the growing anxiety welling inside his gut. 

"Albert Cunningham." 

Bruce's eyes fell into a hard squint. He shifted on his feet. 

"Yes, I spoke with him just this morning. What about him?" 

A beat. Lucius seemed to be considering his options. Another moment flew passed. Bruce began to feel sick. 

"He's dead." 

The entirety of Falkner's seemed to stop in time. He felt almost as if Freeze had put him in some sort of tundra like choke hold that stopped his limbs from doing anything. He felt solid - stuck. 

Eventually, he swallowed down the nausea threatening to tip over all the way. He let his eyes slip close. _Deep breath._

"We're keeping it under control with the news and GCPD so far. Gordon agreed to try and keep it on the down low until all of this gets figured out. He needs to speak with you, Bruce." Small, quiet, Lucius added: He needs to get an alibi." 

There was a point where Bruce could only inhale slowly through his nose. In that moment, Lucius continued to speak. He wasn't certain what was being said. There was no way Mabel and Albert weren't connected. Nor the fact that he decided to show up on the same day that all of this appeared. But why? Just because he's Bruce Wayne? Or perhaps Cunningham was in to more than Bruce initially saw. 

"Bruce?" 

There - He heard that. It was said with enough force that Lucius must have said it a few times before. Bruce coughed to show response. 

"Yeah. Right, okay." He turned back around and started out. "I'll be right there, Lucius." 

Lucius didn't get the chance to respond when Bruce turned off the call. He made his way out and quickly scribbled a check to slap on the table, which made Marcus flinch. 

"Hey, woah, what's going on?" the other asker hurriedly. 

Bruce thought about just leaving without answer, but soon realised that wouldn't be good for either of them. He went for the easiest answer.

"I can't explain right now, but we'll have to finish this some other time. I'm sorry," he apologised. "Uh- and when the police come to talk with you, don't panic. We aren't in trouble." 

_I hope_. 

Marcus seemed to struggle coming up with a legible response to that. Deciding he didn't have time for it in the first place, Bruce turned on his heel, and left. 

_\----_

Outside everything seemed perfectly fine. 

When Bruce had first arrived he had thought that there was a possibility that it was all some sort of dream hallucination his mind had made up. He _had_ been tired. It wasn't totally impossible. 

The moment he entered the building he knew that simply wouldn't be. He was crowded by police officers talking to Albert's closest work friends, coroners; anyone he would expect to show at a crime scene. 

To his ease, there weren't reporters there. Which meant the GCPD had done what they could to keep it under wraps for now - just as they had promised. Whoever said they weren't trustworthy could bite Bruce's ass. 

On the thought of the GCPD, Bruce's eye caught the one's of Jim Gordon. He didn't take any time to wait before following Jim out of the busy floor up to Bruce's own space; somewhere quiet for now. 

The doors clicking shut behind them felt like a gong ringing deep within Bruce's ears. He stood by them with Jim positioned directly in front of him. They remained silent. 

Bruce caught the click of a tape recorder. He knew it was for safety measures, for certain, but even then he still felt almost betrayed by the lack of trust. Then again, it wasn't like he was Batman. 

_Yet._

The sound of Jim exhaling brought Bruce in to focus. Dark lashes fluttered up at a weary old ones gaze; worried. 

"You know I hate to ask this, right?" was the first question asked. 

A tick within Bruce had him almost deflating at how rundown Jim sounded. He hoped his smile was reassuring enough. 

"Of course, Jim. You're simply doing what you must." 

Jim's lungs rattled and he nodded. "Right," he started. It sounded almost like he was trying to will himself to do it. 

Standing taller, Gordon finally asked,"Bruce Wayne, were you in the building during the supposed murder of Albert Cunningham?" 

The use of the word _murder_ made Bruce's blood boil. There was so supposed in this. 

Hoping he seemed steady enough, Bruce swallowed. "No. I have been out at a business meeting at Falkner's Diner with an associate. Name Marcus Willis. The owner of the establishment, Miles, can also vouche for my location, as well as twenty other civilians." 

"Have you talked to Albert recently?" 

Bruce thought back to that morning. "Early today. Around ten." 

Jim went over this. He grit his teeth. "Was something off about him? Maybe he looked sick? Anything at all?" 

There hadn't been a hair out of place on Albert's head. But Bruce didn't need to remember that to know this had to do with a certain someone. _But how?_ <

"He had been fine, Jim. Whoever did this did it right under all of our noses." 

Dreaded quiet filled the space between them. The tape recorder clicked and came to a stop, which only made the lack of noise even more unbearable. Bruce was used to not speaking. He never liked it all that much. However, in that moment, he felt like he could have screamed. 

He gulped and shifted his weight. "I'm so sorry, Jim. I know how much work this must be trying to keep this from the press. I want you to know I appreciate it, and-" 

"No, no, Bruce," Jim interjected. "It's not a problem. We're friends, all right? It's the least I could do. Really." 

He did so much for Bruce on a daily basis. Bruce only wished he could somehow express that to Jim without revealing his identity in the process. 

"Yes, well, if you do ever need anything - please ask." 

Bruce offered a smile filled with appreciation. His eyes told a completely different story. Like he was concerned. Jim didn't seem to notice and returned it. 

They both looked at the turned off recorder. Neither dared say a word. Bruce knew Jim had turned it off so they could speak off the record. Even then it felt like they weren't allowed to. 

Out of no where, Jim spoke. 

"I'll figure out who did this." 

The amount of persistence behind those words didn't shock Bruce in the slightest. He had heard that tone many times before as Batman. It was one of the best qualities Jim Gordon had ever had. _Hope._

Bruce looked straight ahead at Jim. There was only one thing he could possibly think of as a response. He blinked. 

"I know." 

The doors swung open, and Bruce spun around to look. The man coming in stopped short when he saw both Jim and Bruce in there. A deep red went over them, and he looked at Bruce. 

"Sorry for interrupting," he stuttered,"but this letter came for you. The person who delivered it said it's urgent." 

Bruce turned back to Gordon, who merely shrugged and indicated to the package. Bruce took it. 

"Thank you, Johnathan," he told the young man. 

Johnathon nodded and exited the office with some urgency. Jim snorted, and Bruce chuckled in amusement. 

"You'd think my employees would be more used to my existence by now," he said. 

Gordon laughed at that and stepped forward. "Not sure _I'm_ used to your existence yet, kid." With a teasing smile, Gordon's face went serious. He clapped a hand on Bruce's shoulder. 

"Stay out of trouble until this blows over, will ya? You worry us old men sometimes, Bruce." 

Three names immediately popped into Bruce's headspace - Jim among them. His gaze softened. 

"Thank you, Jim," he said instead, knowing he couldn't promise Gordon something like that. 

Jim took it. He patted Bruce's shoulder, then dropped his arm down to his side. He cleared his throat. 

"I'll leave you to your business then, I suppose." 

Bruce turned to walk with Jim out of the door. At the exit, they shook hands. 

"I hope to see you again soon." 

"Same to you, Bruce. I'll do my best to keep you in the case loop." Jim dropped his hand first. 

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Bruce hummed as Jim stepped in, waving. 

"I appreciate it, Commissioner," he said, genuinely; softly. He offered Jim a grin. "See you later." 

The doors shut before Jim could say his farewell. Bruce didn't mind. He flipped the letter over in his hands, feeling the paper, as he walked back to his office. 

The address wasn't recognisable. In fact, there wasn't even a real address on it. Not even a stamp. It must have been hand delivered. How odd. 

Bruce pushed his eyebrows low. He shut his office doors and made a beeline to the desk. The letter opener was still on the top from his earlier situation with Lucius. 

He ripped it open and slowly took out the letter. The paper was that of what children used on art projects. Bright purple. His stomach dropped. A bad feeling was beginning to sizzle within him. 

When he was certain no bombs or other tech were connected to it, Bruce unfolded the letter. Stickers were placed all over the edges with green glitter glue edging. 

Bruce's eyes scanned over the words one at a time for extra precision. 

_Dear Batman,  
Hey! It's been a while, huh? Well, since it's officially three weeks since I broke out tomorrow, I'm throwing a party to celebrate! Of course, I just had to invite my least favorite enemy. Hope to see you there!  
Sincerely,  
The Joker._

_Signed with a kiss._


	2. Time Flies By When You're Having Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More information continues to pile up on Bruce as he awaits a special evening…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, and happy holidays!
> 
> I've gotten a lot of wonderful reviews lately and I'd like to take this time to thank you all so much. You have no clue how much it means to me that you're sticking to this from the first chapter alone. I love you all and hope you like the rest of it just as much!!
> 
> I'm so sorry that this took so long to post. The season really piled up on me faster than I expected :/
> 
> However!! Today seems to be a wonderful day, in my humble opinion, to post this chapter!! So Merry Christmas to anyone who celebrates it, Happy Hanukkah to you all, and here's my present to you!!!
> 
> (sorry if it feels rushed)

The room was silent other than the occasional water droplet.

Muted television screens flickered to illuminate the room. Three of the people inside watched them in complete silence. None of them had made a move in well over an hour. They were completely engulfed in whatever it was showing.

One of the screens went out for only a moment, causing static to follow. Each person shifted closer in that moment with little interest. When it came on a second later, one of them scoffed. The others turned to him.

"Is there a problem?" a woman hissed. 

The man who scoffed turned to her. An agitated smile was brightened by ten videos. His nose twitched, and he pointed up at them.

"We've been watching this- this _shit show_ for far too long," he spat. "Not a single thing has happened in that whole time. Do you know what that means? Do you?"

Next to both of them, one other man, without taking his eyes off of the screen, frowned deeply. "Don't over step now, Luis."

Luis' face only seemed to become angrier. He whipped around to the other man with teeth bared.

"Do you _know_ what this _means_?"

Dark blank eyes swiveled around to Luis. The lighted half of his face turned up in a smirk, but his expression remained bored; irritated. Across from them both, the woman returned to the televisions.

"Just do your job, Luis," she commented dryly. Despite the lack of emotion in her tone, she shifted from discomfort.

Luis didn't seem to understand what this meant. His shoulders shook with a laugh. In a flash he was standing in front of their views, a large grin plastered on his face. 

"Don't you get it?" he barked around a chuckle. Luis looked between the two bland stares, and his body began to tremble. "You're blind. Both of you, blind. This is all a sick joke, and you two can't see it. None of this is going to work. He's not a fool. He'll see right through your stupid little plan and he'll-"

The woman jerked in her chair and closed her eyes at the sound of the shot firing off. She could hear Luis sliding to the floor before she even saw it. Blood and brain splattered the television screens now. Droplets of crimson stained her clothes and cheeks. At their feet Luis stared up at the ceiling with completely blank eyes; a gaping hole in his skull.

The other man set down his pistol. His face was still that same monotone mask. He took out a pocket square and held it out for her.

"Go get security to clean up this mess," he ordered.

She swallowed thickly. As fast as she could, she took the pocket square and wiped off her face, then stood and scurried out of the room.

He continued watching the screens.

\----

It was freezing. 

Often times it rained in Gotham. Anyone who had taken residence to the city for more than a week would know that. Even tourists could figure it out simply by the cool, muggy air and the dry gray sky. Every day smelled like it was going to pour; it was simply a matter of guessing whether it would or not.

To his luck, it hadn't decided to rain while he was out. The ice lining every inch of the streets from the last time was difficult enough. Let alone an actual downpour.

Batman sunk down to crouch on one of the many gargoyles scattered around. He thanked Alfred and Lucius internally for the grips and waterproof materials used on the most recent suit updates. 

He placed a hand on the statues for extra support while his eyes scanned over Gotham. From where he was, he could see almost the entirety of the place he called home. Lights danced in the aftermath of a storm and shimmered on the buildings. Each sign sparked and added to the chaos. Even with the polluted fog constantly dropped over them, Batman could perfectly make out the moon showing through the clouds. It illuminated the darkness of Gotham more than any of the clubs or street lamps down below.

Despite all of this, Batman couldn't help but have his mind stray. He was supposed to be out on watch for any signs of the Joker, just as he had been doing for the past weeks. After the letter his senses were even more on alert than usual. If there were any other problems he would end the scuffle there as well. At least, should have. Somehow he couldn't find it in himself to pay that much attention.

The moment he had read that note his mind had gone completely out of wack. He thought maybe it had been the initial shock of receiving it, but after a few more times of reading it - almost obsessively, if Alfred had any say in it - he had come to the conclusion that he didn't much care for what it actually _said_. 

The party, as it was so called, was technically set for tomorrow. Batman knew that. There wasn't an address for where it was supposed to be, so he figured there would be some sort of sign. An explosion, maybe a train derailed by a group of people dressed as clowns - anything was possible. Which also meant it could happen that night.

Batman didn't care.

Of course he _cared_. Innocents could die. He never wished for that to happen, especially at the hands of someone as brutal as the Joker. Yet Batman couldn't find that usual spark that made him thrive on the thought of taking down the clown.

A party celebrating his escape? Three weeks ago, no less. And not only that, but invitation by letter of all possible ways? It didn't feel Joker-esque. Although, Batman had already decided the Joker had written it as well as made it. The little touches like the glitter, or the sparkle gems, the kiss signed next to his name, it was all very Joker. 

Except the wording. The way he told him what was happening, point blank, no little drawings of the location or cute nicknames referring to Batman himself. He wrote _sincerely._ The Joker never ended anything with sincerely.

Inside, something nagged at Batman. His jaw clenched and his stomach twisted at the mere idea of any such possibility. It wasn't totally impossible though. It wasn't as though these situations haven't happened before.

It just hadn't ever happened with _Joker_.

The feeling of something on his chin brought Bruce back. He squinted and looked up. Snow was beginning to sprinkle down this time. He turned back to Gotham to watch the pellets begin to grow and fall against the clash of darkness. In the distance he could make out the slightest rise in the sunlight; the hint of brightness against the inky blackness.

Then, in the middle of the sky, he could see it. Not exactly what he had been expecting, but it was something at the very least. 

Batman rose and walked forward on the statue. He kept his eye on the signal being distorted by lights even as he let his feet fall from under him and allowed the air to lift him up.

\----

By the time he arrived there was a thin layer of white on the ground.

The suit was cold proof, for the most part. He could still feel the gentle iciness based mostly on how his breaths came out in smokey puffs. The November temperatures were beginning to pick up, it seemed.

He would have to hurry it up. Whatever _it_ was. Gordon wouldn't be able to survive in this weather for too long. As much as his coat could help, it also wouldn't keep him forever.

Batman landed on the rooftop behind Gordon. He frowned. "You're going to freeze."

Visibly jumping, Gordon whipped around. He swore and pulled his coat around him. "Do you have to do that every damn time? Give me a heart attack..."

With a tut, Batman's nose twitched. "What is this, Gordon?"

Gordon licked his lips and shuddered. "Right," he said, as if bringing him back to the subject at hand. "I don't know if you've heard, but..."

He trailed off with furrowed brows. Batman narrowed his gaze down at Gordon. He was about to pursue the sentence when Gordon did it for him instead.

"Look, Batman, to be completely honest, I don't know if I should be telling you this. But- I trust you." Gordon heaved a sigh, as if that got something heavy off of his shoulders. Batman's chest pulled in a soft way. 

"There was a murder at Wayne Enterprises," Gordon revealed at long last.

Any warm feeling Batman had been having vanished within seconds. Of course he knew that Gordon was telling him this to help. As either Bruce or Batman he would know that. There was no way he could ever be upset with Gordon for that. However, that didn't settle the confusion. He pressed his lips into a line.

"And? This seems like more of a concern for the GCPD than myself, Gordon."

Gordon let out a disbelieving snark and turned his back to Batman. The noise wasn't pointed towards Batman, however; it was a thought to himself. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence?"

Batman could see Gordon shivering as he rubbed his eyes beneath spotted glasses. He raised a brow beneath the mask, but showed no other emotion.

"Coincidence?" he prodded. He took a step to the side so he could stand next to Gordon and looked at him.

Gordon's hand wiped down his face to rake through his mustache. Batman half wondered how he could see at all through his fogged glasses as Gordon turned to glance over at him.

"The Joker hasn't been seen for three weeks straight, Batman. Usually after he breaks out from Arkham there's at least some sort of sign. Then, just today, after a long time of not showing up, Bruce Wayne turns back up from his business trip in wherever the hell country he went to just to have a murder in his building. Raises some red flags, don't'cha think?"

Though Batman couldn't say it, he had to admit he was impressed. Somehow Gordon always found a way to impress him with his detective work.

"Are you implying that Bruce Wayne is working with the Joker?" he grumbled in return.

As much as he wanted to, Batman knew he couldn't reveal any other information he knew. It was too risky towards his identity. With it already being on the line, having Gordon in on the secret wouldn't help at all.

Gordon went over this with a snarl. "Not technically," he answered. Then,"I have a feeling though, Batman. Right in my gut. Somehow these things connect."

Gordon watched as Batman seemed to consider this. They each listened to the steady beep of horns down below that replaced their thoughts.

"What do you want me to do?" Batman asked finally. He watched Gordon with tamed interest knowing that Gordon would pick up on it.

Sighing, Gordon popped up his collar and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Look in to it for me. There are some things that I can't figure out as a part of the GCPD that you can, and I need you to help me out with them."

Gordon regarded Batman, and Batman returned it. He nodded once in agreement. 

Just as Gordon seemed like he was going to continue, Batman heard a buzz in his ear. He backed away from Gordon quickly to press the button on the side of his cowl. 

"Batman?"

Batman made a short noise of acknowledgment. Alfred hummed as a reply to it.

He continued abruptly,"You're most likely busy, having seen the Bat Signal, but there is something important back here for when you have time."

Batman's fingers curled. He glanced back at the chattering Gordon, then away again. "What is it?"

Alfred paused to gather his words. Batman could hear the sounds of the cave behind the other. 

"Another letter, Bruce," he answered. "It came ten minutes ago, but I figured I should scan it for any surprises before contacting you."

Batman's heart stopped dead in his chest. It most likely contained the location of the Joker's little - hopefully little - party. But it also confirmed a detail he had been trying to ignore since the first note came. Fear rose up in his throat as burning bile resting on his tongue.

Swallowing down the nausea, Batman let out a shaking breath. "I'll be right there. Don't open it without me."

He turned back around to Gordon without waiting for Alfred to continue. He ignored the heat pulsing through his veins with a sickly feeling.

"I need to go," he informed Gordon.

Said man turned to Batman with chattering teeth. He seemed more than happy with leaving their conversation as was, but Batman could still pinpoint the burning question in his eyes.

As if on cue, Gordon asked,"Does it have anything to do with our problem?"

Batman considered telling him. He deserved to know. Gordon was a great detective, a good friend, and a reliable ally. Batman could trust him with most any information.

Which was why he decided not to reveal this to Jim.

Batman kept a strict face even as he struggled to get off of the building without vomiting. He didn't glance back at Gordon as he stood on the GCPD's ledge.

"Go warm up, Gordon. There's no point in working together if you're hypothermic."

He heard Gordon's chuckle as he jumped away.

\----

It was oddly silent in the cave.

Bruce removed his cowl and gauntlets with practised precision. He ran his fingers through his hair to slick it from his eyes and set his equipment down on the nearest flat surface to which Alfred frowned.

"You are going to put those in their proper placements, correct?" he scolded as Bruce made his way towards him.

"There are more important subjects than where I put my gear right now, Alfred," Bruce pointed out, which only earned him a disapproving glare. Alfred didn't rebuke, however.

Almost immediately Bruce found the note. It was still sealed tightly, just as he had asked. Set neatly on top of his computer, the envelope had a little drawing of a balloon on it. Bruce clamped down on the edge of the table until his knuckles were white. Next to him he could see Alfred staring at it as well.

"He sent it to our front door," Bruce growled, teeth bared.

Alfred shifted by him. "Not to the cave. He at least doesn't know where this is."

Both went quiet. It sent a shudder up Bruce's spine. From a cascade of ice to complete silence only made the situation worse.

His shoulders shook from the effort Bruce took to grip the computer. He sucked in a breath to push down more of the shaking feeling that was beginning to suffocate him.

"Alfred?" he half whispered. Bruce watched the crayon balloon like it was going to pop out and stab him.

Alfred moved to look at him. If Bruce had taken the time to look back he knew he would have seen the same emotions swimming behind those old eyes.

"Yes, Bruce?" he played along.

Bruce slid his hand towards the small envelope. Such a small object, but so much power; he could barely bring himself to touch it. He gulped.

"The Joker knows my identity."

His finger fell down on the envelope. He began to tear at it, but not enough to open. Only enough to peel the edges. 

"It seems so," Alfred whispered back. He watched Bruce play with the paper note.

Bruce grit his teeth together. He thought back to earlier with Albert; seeing his body being rolled away. Both of his talks with Jim. His muscles twitched.

"I have to go to this," he insisted. There wasn't any question left in his voice. No matter what was said there was no moving him away from that decision. That much was obvious.

Alfred seemed to know that. He placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder and squeezed despite the kevlar still clad around him. Bruce turned to look at Alfred, who raised a brow. 

"Well, you've got to open it if you're going to go then, don't you? If you'd stop dilly dallying by picking at it like a child maybe we'd be getting somewhere now."

Behind the sarcasm of the words Bruce could see the fond comfort in Alfred's eyes. Whatever panic ebbing at Bruce's nerves dissolved with this, if only for just a bit. 

He went to the letter without a moment left to spare and tore it open. Just like the last one, the print was sloppy and kiddish with colourful construction paper written on. Bruce ran his thumbs up and down the texture of it, and he pressed his hands into it; crumpling the edges. He read over it carefully.

**Batman,  
My apologies for not sending the address last time. It completely slipped my mind! Now that the day is coming up, it'd probably be best for you to know when and where, huh? How does six thirty p.m. on the docks sound? Cannot wait to see you there!  
From,  
The Joker**

There wasn't a lipstick stain this time around. There wasn't even a speck of glitter glue. None of it screamed Joker, not like that last one. Again, a shock flared in his stomach.

Alfred removed his hand from Bruce's shoulder and began walking away. Bruce watched as he made his way over to the elevator.

"What are you doing?" he called.

Alfred turned to look at Bruce over his shoulder while he pressed the up button. Grating metal opened up the doors of the lift. 

"It's going to be long wait, Bruce," he returned. Alfred stepped in. "I'm going to make tea."

Bruce choked out a gruff noise as Alfred was lifted up to the Manor. He was right, to Bruce's upset. Six was a long way away from whatever hour it was then. Early, most likely. 

He had a lot to do that day as well. With the death of Albert there was no chance he would be getting a break any time soon. The press would be on it anytime. As much as he wished they could, Bruce knew the GCPD couldn't hold them back forever. Headlines would be spreading about Gotham in seconds as soon as they got their grimy little hands on the situation. Then, if that weren't enough to deal with, he would have to get in contact with the Cunningham family. There was a possibility of a legal case dawning upon him, and Bruce couldn't take that chance. Besides, it was curtsy for him to make a call out of sympathy.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he couldn't help but blame himself. If he hadn't been with Marcus, or had looked more in to things, or had continued to be Batman for the next few days, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Albert wouldn't be gone. The Joker could have been captured. Any innocents mixed up in this could be off with their families living their lives happily. 

That wasn't true, he knew. This would have happened in any scenario he came up with to convince himself otherwise. None of it was his fault. As much as he told himself that he still didn't believe that. Not completely anyhow.

Through all of the business problems - which, to be honest with himself, he didn't care about - there were still the big ones. The Joker was waiting for him. Had been planning something for weeks now, which could only mean something far worse for Bruce's liking. 

Then there was the whole Mabel part of this mess. She must have been connected. Maybe she was an inside man for Joker. Or part of an organisation he was working with, perhaps?

Bruce rested his chin on his hands. He watched the letter like it was taunting him, eyes dull and frown deep.

That didn't make _sense_. The Joker didn't work with organisations unless they offered him some sort of big deal. Even then after a few days he would get bored and dump their asses in the lake. Quite literally. Three weeks? The clown wouldn't last.

Mabel being an insider for him made an inch more of sense, but it still wasn't connecting. Anything that had to do with Batman and the Joker was there - in person. Whether he was in costume or just himself, he would be there to see him. Especially after he figured out who Batman was. It wasn't like Joker at all.

Besides, what would he have Mabel do for him? Spy on Bruce? Joker was a planner for certain, but he liked to do that personally if he could. As much as Bruce would have liked to say his security would catch him, he knew they wouldn't. There have been times when he probably passed Joker on the streets without realising it was the clown at all. The man was a master of makeup if anything.

Bruce rubbed at his eyes, then peeked up at the clock nearest to him. It was three. He was still in his heavy suit, which was probably only adding to any stress he felt. Plus he needed a shower. Sleep was also an option which he should most likely take, but one glance at the Joker's letter eradicated that thought.

Behind him he heard the gears of the lift shifting. Bruce blinked to remove any fuzziness and stood to face Alfred. His bones ached from the movement.

"Thank you," he said once Alfred came over with a tray of two cups, sugar and much needed toast. 

With one hand, Bruce began to remove his chest plate while the other held both a cup and buttered bread. He struggled with it, but it slowly made its way off of his body at around the same speed as he sipped. Much to his amusement, he eventually heard Alfred scoff and suddenly felt much more nimble hands removing it.

"Stubborn brat," Alfred mumbled just so loud enough that Bruce could hear.

Bruce pretended as though he was hurt by the statement. At the same time Alfred set down his utility belt and cape down by the cowl and gauntlets. 

"I could fire you for saying things like that," he pointed out.

Alfred appeared to laugh. "Oh? And who would do your laundry for you, Master Wayne? Turn around."

Bruce did as told. "There are many other butlers out there who would gladly be hired by Bruce Wayne."

"Yes," Alfred remarked. There was a pop, and the torso armour came off. Bruce turned back around to a smug expression. "But what about Batman?"

Stumped, Bruce forced himself to frown again. He could tell Alfred saw through it, however, for a smile graced the man's features just as he turned to put away the armour.

"Besides, sir," Alfred called while he hung up the cowl. "None of them could stand your terrible manners."

Bruce scowled. He pushed his hair back again, feeling the dampness of it slick it away. He pushed off his boots and started to undo his pants, heading down towards the cave shower. Going up to the manor for a simple wash was pointless. 

"I'll be right back," he yelled to Alfred. "Call me if anything happens!"

He didn't wait for Alfred's response before turning up the water to steaming. Bruce threw his remaining armour to the floor away from the shower while he waited for it to heat up 

The events of the how the day could possibly go before night time flashed before his eyes. Bruce had to suppress a groan as the pure chaos. His back muscles tensed and spasmed with the anxiety pushing in to his mind. The steam rising up seemed far more inviting than before.

Bruce stepped in, closing the door behind himself.

\----

The same old smiles, the same lame hellos he was so used to - all gone.

A sort of haze had dropped down on Wayne Enterprises. Everyone at the company walked with their heads down and their mouths shut. It was like they were all afraid of who was the killer, and if they greeted the wrong person they would end up just the same as Albert.

Bruce had given anyone who had physically witnessed the death a day off to grieve. It would be a shock to see, he knew. Being Batman he was far more accustomed to watching gruesome crimes, but even he had a sick feeling every time. There was no way innocent employees would be okay after something like that.

Based off of the report, Albert had been struggling to breathe when he suddenly began foaming at the mouth. That all came before the blood. Someone had tried to save him, but the help had been futile. He died seconds after he suffered a short heart attack.

He was staring at the newspaper without actually reading it. He knew what it said. The moment he had walked in the front doors he had been handed the article. Murder At Wayne Enterprises blared boldly on the front Cover.

Bruce hadn't needed to read it to know he was being blamed. The way people had looked at him all day had been filled with suspicion. Bruce Wayne, a murderer. Killed one of his employees in the midst of the workplace. It wasn't like he would get caught, being Gotham's very own billionaire, so why shouldn't he? Driven crazy after the death of his parents and everything since then. People had always had their suspicions. Now they had a reason.

It made Bruce sick.

He had been sitting in his office for hours by then. Paper in hand, clock ticking in a slow, taunting manner. Everything at that moment appeared to be mocking Bruce. _Being_ Bruce was bad enough, but having to deal with all these other problems? That was just a steel toed kick in the face.

He had made a call out to the Cunningham family earlier and had gotten into a long drawn out argument - on Albert's family's end - on how they were going to send a lawyer up to speak with him about "things." In other words, if Bruce didn't agree to giving them what they wanted, he was getting sued. He had established that thought before he had even made the call, but hearing it out loud seemed to make the stone in his chest drop further.

A few other calls had been made. Alfred had forwarded most of them, seeing as they were all from reporters and other unimportant sales. A few clients had been put on hold for later after having been told there was an urgent situation they would have to wait for. The morning had been purely chaotic.

The passed hour from mid afternoon had given Bruce what felt like was the first blissful taste at peace he had had in a long time. No one to talk to. No spies trying to break in, no news reporters on the Joker or letters asking him a favor. Although those thoughts all remained bouncing around his head like a ballroom full of sugar rushed children, there wasn't anyone to actually push it on him. Which, as far as Bruce was concerned, meant total peace.

Right up until the phone interrupted him once more.

He waited for the ringer to shut off by Alfred from back at home. Unfortunately, no such thing happened. Which meant it wasn't business related or gossipers trying to get the latest scoop for the gazette.

Bruce's forehead wrinkled. He placed down the newspaper and picked up the line. "Hello?" he answered.

"Bruce?" Lucius said back.

Bruce shifted in his chair. _Wonderful._ What could possibly be going wrong then?

"By the sound of your tone something must be wrong. Will this be a regular event for us now?" Bruce continued. He tried to stifle his agitation as best as he could.

On the other end, Lucius chuckled. "I certainly hope not," he started. Sighing, he went on. "Gordon just came in looking for you. Said he had some bad news and needed to speak immediately. Do you know anything about this?"

If Gordon had just gotten here he would be in his office any moment. Bruce stood and pushed the newspaper and any files he had on the case - including the letter - into his desk.

"No, I don't. I'm going to guess it won't be good though." Bruce locked the drawer and stuffed the key in his pocket. "Thank your for telling me, Lucius. I appreciate it, as always."

A hum of acknowledgment came over. "Any time, Bruce. Good luck with Gordon."

Bruce opened his mouth to thank Lucius, but the door handle clicked at that very moment. In a flash he was sitting and pretending to write down something in his work log.

The sound of Gordon's footsteps came in a second later. None others followed. Good, Bruce thought. No one else was there to help out. He was better talking with Gordon one on one.

Eyes flicking up, Bruce raised his brows. He set down his pen and spread out his arms in faked surprise. 

"Jim! I didn't expect to see you today."

He stood and held out his hand to which Gordon shook. Bruce indicated to the seat across from him and sat again at the same time as Gordon took up the other chair.

Bruce folded his hands in his lap. "Is this about the case?" he asked. His face went dark; almost sad. "Have you seen the headlines? Terrible."

A small smile flashed on Jim. His eyebrows were pulled together, and a sigh racked him. "Actually, Bruce, this might have something to do with that."

Gordon's tone was deeply grim. It unsettled a part of Bruce's already churning stomach. He cocked his head.

"How so?"

The grimace that crossed Gordon made Bruce's breath hitch. More bad news. What else was new?

"Marcus Willis and Miles Falkner are missing," Gordon informed quickly. He tapped the arm rests of the chair in wait for Bruce's inevitable response.

Knowing full well what that meant only made Bruce's heart beat slow down more than it should have. He was certain it was going to stop if he got any more surprises like these that day. His lungs didn't seem to want to inhale much either, to his ultimate disdain

In an instant his mind was racing with possible answers to all of this. Serenity had been disrupted. The day was put back on the insanity boat that was turning into his life, and Bruce couldn't help but search overboard. 

The Joker must have been behind it. Everything so far connected to him up to then. But why? No, Bruce scolded himself, that wasn't important right then. What was the problem?

Marcus and Miles were who would testify for him. Missing, they were no use. But we're they missing, or dead? Or something else entirely? 

Bruce clenched his jaw. Marcus and Miles could be working for Joker as well. This was all somehow part of his master plan, whatever that may be. That could have been how Ms. Sacarello knew he would be back yesterday. Marcus knew the business meeting place and had told her when he would be gone so she had the time to kill Albert.

Then again, that didn't explain some other parts of the puzzle. How did the Joker find out Bruce's identity in the first place? What did that have anything to do with Batman anyhow? Joker had always said that the man under the mask didn't matter to him, so why was he doing this? What was the point?

Off topic again. That didn't matter then. It would have to be solved some other time.

Bruce forced himself to slow down and take a breath. He tried this a few more times to get himself back to a steady level. He would ask the Joker later at the docks. After he took him down, that would clear everything up. That's all he needed to do and it would be over. No need to panic.

Without being anywhere near him the Joker still had the ability to make him lose it like no one else could. Bruce cursed them both for that.

Realising Gordon was still waiting for a reply, Bruce cleared his throat. Batman was the one who knew about the law, not Wayne. He blinked in what he hoped passed as confusion.

"And what does that mean?" he asked. 

Gordon eyed Bruce for a second. Then, he licked his lips, and said,"It means we can't prove that you weren't here during the point in which Mr. Cunningham was killed."

Bruce watched as Gordon sat up a bit straighter, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The expression on his face was shadowed. 

"You're a suspect, Wayne. More so than anyone else due to the public eye."

Bruce didn't say a word. He was certain the look on his face was answer enough to Gordon. The other appeared just as horrified.

"You're going to need to question me then," he stated it matter-of-factly.

He recalled their conversation last night. Gordon had suspected Bruce Wayne as being part of the murder somehow from the start. With this new information arising, it was no doubt sending off alarm bells in Gordon's head. This was the perfect opportunity to pat Bruce down.

Gordon pushed up his glasses and cracked his knuckles. For a split second Bruce thought perhaps Gordon was going to say something. To his shock, Gordon stood and smiled.

"No, not right now. We don't have enough evidence to bring you in, as much as Gotham wishes we did."

That was a lie. Bruce knew full well they had as much information as they needed for him to be brought down to the station. Gordon must have some sort of ulterior motive. Perhaps he'll want to speak with Batman first?

Bruce interrupted his own train of thought by following Gordon's lead to stand. "Well, I appreciate you stopping by to tell me this, Jim," he commented with a lame smile. "I truly hope you find Mr. Willis and Falkner soon."

Trained to see the tiny ticks, Bruce caught the strain behind Gordon's smile. They shook hands once more.

"It's simply my job, Mr. Wayne. If I hear any word on them I'll be sure to let you know."

Bruce flashed what appeared to be a grateful smile. He fixed his lapels. "Thank you, Gordon. You have no clue what that means to me."

_Quite literally._

Gordon shot back the same half assed smile and waved to Bruce. "Till next time," he finalised. 

Bruce gave a chuckle. His face fell to stone the moment the door was closed. Two minutes passed before he made a single movement. Slowly, Bruce brought himself to sit again. 

The clock ticked. 

\----

It was five thirty.

Never in his life had he thought that waiting would be such a big problem. He had practised the art of patience ever since he was child, having had some keen sense of awareness that it would come in handy some day. 

Sitting and waiting was simply a talent of Bruce's by then. He could stand in place and blank out for hours at a time until it was finally the awaited moment. It wasn't hard in the slightest either. After spending far too many nights watching criminals until he could make the perfect move, it wasn't a difficult task at all.

Yet there he was, pacing the Bat cave for the sixth time, head down and nail biting for the clock to run faster.

He stopped in his tracks when he nearly bumped in to the equipment table. Bruce took a step back from it and ran a hand over his face. He glanced at the time. Only five minutes had gone by still.

Groaning, Bruce leaned over the table and rested his head between his elbows. His fingers curled down into his hair. How slow could this possibly go? He had been - literally - tortured multiple times by brutal murderers, and none of them compared to how fucked up waiting for this had been.

Almost a full month had gone by since the Joker broke out of Arkham. Bruce had the headlines memorised. He had searched every inch of Gotham twice each night looking for him and found no trace every time. He did that for _three weeks_. The Joker was gone. He had been dust in the wind; had disappeared as far as Gotham was concerned.

Bruce knew differently. The Joker wouldn't dare leave this city. As long as Batman existed he would be there to fight Bruce. Joker was obsessed. He needed the resistance. Like some crazed stalker of Batman's, but instead of wanting an autograph he wanted bloody teeth. 

Not only that, but he loved to show off. Gotham's citizens thought it was to scare them, but Bruce knew differently. The explosions, the fun fairs, any sort of shows, they were all for Batman. To impress him. It was odd, but it was the Joker. Flamboyant, big, crazy, brightly colored Joker.

So where was he? And why only get in contact now? Through a letter of all ways. That wasn't like him. Why wasn't it like him? _None_ of this was like him.

Bruce pulled at his hair, messing up the locks. He had gone over this so many times that it was beginning to give him a headache. He couldn't focus on anything but that. Anything but the Joker. 

He needed to sit for a minute, Bruce thought.

He pushed himself up from where he was splayed out. Glad Alfred wasn't there to witness what appeared to be his very own mental breakdown, Bruce made his way to his desk chair and sat down with far more force than necessary. His body wanted more than anything to stay there and sleep for the next two days. Bruce sunk in.

As if taunting him, the note stared back at Bruce. He had forgotten to put it away before cleaning up. So there it was, directly across from him, plain and simple text. Bruce watched it like it was about to catch on fire.

Up on the screen glared the steadily standing time. He looked at it for a few minutes. His eyes didn't want to notice how slowly it was moving. After what seemed like an eternity, it was still twenty minutes to six. 

Bruce's hands massaged the arm rests. He had been waiting for almost three hours then. Three hours of pure disdain for what the Joker could possibly be planning.

Now, though, he only felt a surge of panic.

Stomach tight, Bruce tried to swallow down the lump lodged in his airway. He felt his body switching between hot and cold at rapid speeds, causing a slight sweat to work up. He eyed the letter through squinted eyes.

Bruce's shaking hand shot out to grab it. He stood a bit too quickly, and his head spun, but he ignored it. He began to crumple the paper as he walked towards the suit. Determination mixed in with the illness swirling in his veins.

Bruce lifted it to see once more. It was crinkled now, but still visible. He glared a hole through it. As though that'd end the entire situation.

Then, he stopped.

The Joker never referred to him as Batman, not unless he was in battle and trying to monologue, and he certainly wasn't doing that. Something clicked in his brain, gears shifting, and he remembered something from a long time ago.

Bruce skidded to a locked drawer by his memorabilia. It was labeled simply with a J. He stuck out his thumb to scan and threw open the file as soon as it clicked in recognition. Bruce fingered through each paper, drawing, suit piece and lame joke in there. Just as he was losing hope, Bruce saw it. He stared for a moment as though shock had completely stopped him from moving. Then, with near violent speed, unfolded the old paper. 

It said nothing in particular. Just some joke that the Joker had used to try and make him laugh. Back when they had done anything that seemed like a new tactic. His heart clenched.

There, signed at the bottom, was the Joker's signature.

A giant swooping J, ended with a heart, and a lipstick kiss on the bottom. Elegant but crazy looking, just the same as the clown himself. 

Bruce swallowed thickly and brought up the crumpled paper. The handwriting was the same, for the most part. Everything was exactly the same; except for the signature, and the way some parts were worded.

It was a stretch, he knew that. It was a long, _long_ stretch of almost infinite proportions. It was almost impossible. The chance of it was inconceivable. However, with everything else tied to it, Bruce had to admit there was a smidge of sense stuffed in there.

Bruce dropped both letters and practically sprinted to get his armor on. In that instance, Alfred entered, eyeing both the papers and then Bruce.

He raised a brow. "Sir?"

Bruce hesitated for a moment. He had the cowl in his hands with those pure white eyes staring back up at him. He could be wrong. There was a high percentage that he was incredibly far off on his assessment of all this. The Joker could have just decided to write differently that day. He was inconsistent in most everything he did, so why would this be any different?

It could also be a trap. That was the most likely option. He could get there and everything could go haywire. Again, It was Joker. The clown loved surprises.

A lurch in his stomach had Bruce dispelling that idea. He had a feeling. A very _bad_ feeling, yes, but a feeling. Whatever this was, there was still the possibility that it was what he expected it to be.

Bruce placed on the cowl and adjusted it until it clicked firmly into place. He turned up the voice modulator to the signature growl. Then, at last, he snapped on the utility belt as the finality.

When Batman turned, he went straight passed Alfred without so much as an answer.


	3. Everyone Loves A Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman goes out to find the Joker only to find himself in far more trouble than expected...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Before I start off with the chapter notes I'd like to thank all of you for supporting this. I didn't expect it to be getting as much love as it has with only - two chapter posted, no less - and I just needed to say I appreciate it so much. Your comments and reviews have been some of my favorite things to see. <3
> 
> All right, all right, enough with the mushy stuff. This chapter was pretty difficult to write out, which is why it took me so long to write it. I'm very very sorry for the time it took me to post it. The next one shouldn't take as long, but if it does don't be afraid to message me! Your comments always help me to get along in the process.
> 
> If there are any mistakes or if the characters seem a bit out of character _please_ tell me.
> 
> My tumblr is anthonyjstark! If you have any ideas, suggestions or even just want to talk feel free to contact me on there or shoot me an ask (:
> 
> Once more, thank you all for reading this. I love you all, and I hope you enjoy!

There was a thin sheet of ice on the lake.

It wasn't strong enough to withhold any resistance, and not every inch was covered, but there was certainly enough to prove how cold it truly was. Gotham was turning frigid.

Tiny pellets of hail dropped down on Batman as he sped through every short cut he knew of. The docks themselves were farther away from the manor than most places, but that was only due to all the back roads. Besides, the area itself was a wide range. Based off of the wording the meet up could have been anywhere.

Crates upon crates were stacked on top of each other as far as the the shoreline. In the distance a few cranes moved some over and on to the ice breaker boats that still needed to move supplies. A few lamp posts and the sliver of horizon were all that were lighting the area. In between the multicoloured boxes was near pitch black. 

Batman backed his vehicle into an empty box away from where they were picking up any goods. He climbed his way up and on to the crates dotting the docks. His eyes flicked over the land.

So far there were no indications of where the Joker could be starting out. No smoke, or flashing lights. Not even the distinct rumble of the ground after a blast. To be fair, there were still ten minutes until the designated meeting time. He had gotten there too early.

Batman eyed the workers wandering not far away. If any explosives were to go off they wouldn't be damaged, but it was still possible. He thought about going over to order them off. That way they'd be guaranteed safe. However, if he did that, there was a wide opening for Joker to strike. That would most certainly lead to a few fatal injuries.

He had to risk staying out of it. It was either hope they remained unharmed or hope they don't become harmed by his own hand. Either way, the situation was on a tipping point.

Batman blinked. His eyes were stinging from restlessness. Even thinking about it caused every bone in his body to drag downwards by some gravitational pull of the Earth that wished he would simply lie down and never get back up.

He shook his head. The fog creeping up in his vision disappeared the moment he did so, and Batman straightened out. He stood. Wind cracked against his exposed skin within an instant of making a leap to the next vantage point. It was getting colder by the second.

Through all of the different boxes he could see absolutely nothing. Darkness was creeping up on him with every passing moment that he sat there to wait. He would would have said that the Joker must have known that as well so that it'd be easier for him to hide. Expect the Joker knew that it was precisely the opposite.

The bat suit had different visions for different situations. One was night vision, which of course came in handy, seeing as he worked at night. However, he also had heat and cold visions for apprehending hidden objects or people. Cold had been made the moment Freeze had come into his prospect. The man was a walking icicle. Heat had never done anything for him.

The Joker knew that. He knew most hidden secrets about the suit, as much as Bruce wished that wasn't true. There had been multiple times when they had been fighting and Joker had used the suit against him as a last resort. Once he had even snuck in a little - genuine - surprise in replacement of a hidden blade in his gauntlets.

Batman blinked away the straying thoughts. It wasn't the time to become distracted. The Joker was plotting something. Or, if there was even the slightest chance, wasn't. Sort of.

Huffing a breath, Batman leapt further towards the water itself. He turned on his heat signature application and was immediately met with the sight of all the workers across the way. They became far brighter within an instant, causing Batman to squint against the light. They weren't his priority, however, so he turned away from them.

He took a step back from mild surprise. A box was at his feet wrapped neatly in green and red paper. A beautiful purple bow stuck up on the top of it. It had no red pulses coming from it, but Batman didn't need it to. It meant he was close. That was all that mattered.

Batman curled his fingers in to create a white knuckled fist. _This was it._

"Joker!" he began. His voice boomed up over the docks. By then he didn't care if anyone heard. He looked around. "Come out now, or-"

A shrill ring from the box interrupted him, and Batman whipped around at the laughter resounding. Nothing happened for a moment. He felt his chest tighten from the sheer anticipation.

A jack in the box sprung out at him lamely, and Batman took a step back. At that same time, a real, strong giggle sounded far too close to his ear. Before he could even register what was happening, a light weight was on his back and a pair of legs were wrapped around his waist. Green fell into his eyes at the same time as another laugh echoed. 

"Hiya, Batsy!" the Joker greeted. He pressed a wet kiss to Batman's exposed chin and squeezed around his neck. "Did I scare ya?"

Growling, Batman whipped himself around and slammed himself, back down, into the jack in the box. Or, more precisely, the Joker.

The moment strangling limbs let go with a wheezed laugh, Batman stood and turned to face the struggling Joker.

"Geez, Bats," Joker spluttered. "Give a girl the chance to catch up, will ya?"

A grin split those familiar features. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity Batman was faced with the Joker's signature pale skin, his crazed emerald eyes, bright red lipstick that smeared up the sides and that extravagant purple suit. Even pulling himself back up to full height he still looked gangly and small, just the same as their last meeting. Every hair on top of his head was green as ever, though it was a bit more curled. Like the breeze had ruffed it up ever so slightly.

For some reason, Batman let out a deep exhale. His chest shuddered when he let it go, and it left him feeling far less weighted than he had been in a long time.

Anger replaced it instantly.

"Well!" heaved the Joker while dusting off his otherwise immaculate outfit. "It's good to know you're still as you were since the last time we-"

The Joker hit the cargo with a slide. He spit out a bit of blood from the spot where Batman had hit his jaw, and he whipped around to glare at the oncoming Bat. He grinned despite the frusteration in his eyes.

"I was _talking_ ," the Joker hissed. 

Once again he made his way to stand, but this time was too late before Batman was kicking him square in the rib cage. He spluttered at the ache, but choked out a giggle through clenched teeth.

"Oo," he grumbled. " _Someone's_ feeling pissy."

Batman felt his veins flare with heat despite the biting air. He reached down and pulled the Joker up by the collar. He ignored the clawing at his wrist and the kicking at his shins as he dragged the man to the end of the crate. 

The Joker, noticing where they were heading, broke out in a fit of quiet laughter. His shoulders shook even as Batman hung him over the edge with his feet dangling below him.

"Bats, darling," he mused,"dropping me from this height won't do any damage to me. Did you get rusty over our break?"

Batman's teeth snapped together, and he snarled. What was this? Just some sort of sick, long running joke? And all for what? To play mind games? That had always been Riddler's gimmick, not Joker's. Never did he think the clown would stoop to that level.

Balling his fist into the Joker's clothes, Batman whipped around and let go. He heard the crack of another crate below smack into the Joker's back. He looked over just in time to see Joker's body ragdoll down to the ground.

Batman jumped down elegantly and strutted closer to the Joker. The clown himself groaned and moved to get up. His body trembled with muted chuckles.

"That was... That was plain dirty, Bats. I applaud you."

When going to stand, Batman quickly shot out his arm to pin Joker by the throat. It worked, to say the least. Other than the gun pressed to his chest, the Joker was no longer able to move.

"What's got your pretty little panties in a bunch there, Bats?" asked the Joker through the struggle to breathe.

Their noses were practically touching. Both pairs of eyes flicked back and forth to the other; searching for something. Batman pressed his forearm harder onto the Joker's airway. He heard the clown gasp faintly.

On a usual basis, Batman wouldn't dare speak unless needed. The Joker was known for twisting his words around to get on Batman's nerves, so he tended to avoid that at any cost. It wasn't the regular, though. At that point Batman's levels of rage were already at their peak, and he couldn't quite find it within himself to regain a level of calm headedness.

Pressing himself up against Joker, Batman could feel - as well as see in small puffs - the hot breaths tickling his face. 

"Three weeks," he snapped. 

It was evident that the Joker had not been expecting that as an answer. Eyebrows raising up, his lashes fluttered.

"Uh- wait, let me get this right," the Joker stuttered. He squinted a Batman. "I was gone for three weeks, yes. So- ah- ah... Are you saying you _missed_ me?"

Batman didn't reply this time, but apparently that also wasn't the correct answer. The Joker beamed, and from this point the sparkle in his eyes was incredibly clear. Batman's face fell to a dead frown.

_Wonderful,_ he thought lamely. He had made the psychopathic clown happy. Oh, joyous days.

"You did! You missed me! _Ahaha_ , oh golly, that's priceless." The Joker was absolutely vibrating in an attempt to contain himself. "Well, to be completely honest, I suppose I should say that... I missed you too, Batsy."

Just about to say that that wasn't what he meant, Batman breathed out a grumble. At the same time, the Joker pressed his lips into a thin line and stretched them into a hopeful smile. Every inch of his idiotic makeup covered face was lit up in a way that was far different than the face he got when he blew up a building. Like he got to change the music in the bat mobile on the way to Arkham but _so much_ brighter.

Cursing himself, Batman ground his teeth together. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Joker. I'm taking you back to Arkham. Now."

Everything he had been thinking of up to that point came rushing back when he met Joker's wide gaze. The smile had gone slack. It returned before Batman had a second to think about what it meant. Even so, he still had a chance. The ability was wide open. Batman swallowed. 

"But I have a few questions first."

To his surprise - Batman wasn't quite certain why he was surprised by anything he did anymore, but he still managed to do it - the Joker inhaled sharply as if he were considering that an option.

"Look, darling, I know it's been a while since I left, but could we skip the catching up part? Live in the moment? Maybe talk about this later?"

He eyed Batman for any response, but when none came he rolled his eyes and groaned. 

"You're really killing the mood here, Bats. I'm trying to start a little something, y'know?"

Again, no answer. The Joker sighed, and he squirmed against Batman once more. 

"Somehow," he started,"I had forgotten how much of a bore you can be, Bats. Fortunately, I have the _perfect_ cure! I hear it's extremely bat repellent!"

Batman's brows pushed together, and his nose scrunched from question. He turned in time to notice the tightening of the Joker's finger around the trigger.

He jumped to the side before the bullet could fire. To his disdain the shot never went off. Why would it? This was the Joker, after all. He should have called the bluff.

Turning back around to see what he assumed what would either be orange socks and a purple coat tailing behind a running clown or a fist connecting with his jaw, Batman was stunned to find neither. Instead he landed on the sight of the Joker holding a syringe in hand, _frowning._

Yet again, completely out of character for the Joker. Not only the smile, but what he assumed was a drug. Although, scanning it, it looked to be empty. Batman's jaw clenched. _What was this?_

Having gotten caught up in his thoughts - again - Batman was caught off guard by the gloved hand covering his face.

The Joker chuckled, but it was off. "Told you you gotta work on that, Batsy."

The needle plunged into his neck around the same moment as Batman grabbing on to the Joker's arm. Once he took note that whatever the Joker was doing with a needle could be potentially harmful to his health, he waited to move. His eyes met the green one's of Joker, who worked his jaw and quickly looked away.

The moment the Joker took it out, Batman had his foot up on his chest and was pushing him down. He felt the movement in the Joker's arm before he even heard the sick crack of his shoulder coming out of place. It was followed soon by the thud of the Joker's skull against the cement.

With the arm that wasn't dislocated, the Joker tucked away the syringe now filled with dark red. Even more questions popped up from this, but his deep growl was the only sound that came out. 

Batman pressed his foot down, hard, on the Joker's chest. The clown choked out a strained giggle and smiled up towards his rival.

"I missed this," he cooed.

Pulling up on the arm, Batman watched Joker wince. "What did you do that for?" he demanded in his sharpest tone. 

The reverberation of his voice modulator made it all the more threatening. 

"Gosh, Batsy," the Joker mused. He bit a smile at Batman with a nose scrunch and shudder. "You really know how to make a guy feel special."

A swift kick up had Batman loosening his hold on the Joker. Underneath him, said man rolled out and up with one swift motion.

There was a slice through Batman's skin, then a sharp pain in his knee. He got his hands on the Joker, but not fast enough. He was rewarded with a backhand from the butt of a gun. Through the haze that followed the hit, Batman clearly remembers striking a direct hit with his elbow into the Joker's gut, then quickly tackling him down under once again.

Blood dripping from his cheek, Batman sat on top of the Joker. He bent his leg to kneel, but his knee pulled in a strong, aching burn. The Joker took the moment to slip sideways, grab Batman's ears and smash his face into the ground.

Both of them glared at each other, breathing hard, and the Joker snorted. His chest rumbled with that familiar noise, which continued to grow louder and louder. If Batman weren't used it it, it would have hurt his ears. As an opposite result, adrenaline rushed through his veins, and Batman tangled his hands in the Joker's curls and stood, pulling the Joker up with him.

Stopping to catch his breath, the Joker winced. "Ow, ouchie, okay, careful with the hair. It's sacred, Bats. Kind of one of my main- damnit-"

The Joker coughed a breath as he was shoved into another crate, then quickly slammed into by Batman. He wasn't given a chance to fight before Batman's hands were feeling every nook and cranny the Joker had.

Humming through a chuckle, the Joker gulped around some blood. "Wasn't exactly expecting this, Bats, but I'm not saying I'm not liking it."

He was cut off by Batman forcefully smashing his injured head back against the metal box. 

"Where is it?" Batman barked.

"Darling, it's basic anatomy," the Joker retorted. He puckered his lips at the angry sneer he received. Within a second his face lit up. "Oh, you mean this!"

His uninjured arm shot up and wiggled the bottled - blood. It was full of blood. _Batman's_ blood. 

Shock rippled through him long enough that when Batman grabbed for it, the Joker tsked and hid it behind himself.

"Ah, ah, ah! No touchy, Bats. You've still got a supply runnin' around inside of you. I think you care spare some."

Batman dove to snatch the syringe, but the Joker tossed it to the ground a few crates down. Both of them stopped for a second to stare at it.

"Oops..." the Joker trailed off. He clicked his tongue and turned back to Batman. He smiled. "Race ya."

Quickly, he detached himself from Batman, and sprinted towards the blood filled syringe. Batman was on his trail in a thought's notice, but he didn't pick it up before the Joker did. He would have caught up to him too if the clown hadn't made a sharp turn into the crates maze.

Batman skidded to a halt. He took a second to breathe, watching as each exhale brought a puff of air in front of his face. He turned to his stinging arm and dotted the sliced skin on his bicep. His kneecap throbbed when he put too much pressure on it, but he ignored that feeling as well as he could. 

He couldn't lose the Joker again. Not after all of this added stress it had made. Besides, he had questions, and he was willing to bet that the clown could answer some of them. Plus that syringe. Whatever it was for, Batman couldn't help but think it had to be connected with all of this.

Batman removed his grappling hook and clicked on his heat vision on. Once more he scanned the area, though this time he stuck to the designated area which the Joker had ran through. Without hearing the jarring laughter that tended to follow his running pace it made the search a bit more difficult. It felt off. Just the same as everything else.

There, he caught. Not far up - though straight ahead - Batman could see a faint splotch of rapidly moving red heat. 

He hooked his grapple up to a higher vantage point then went into stealth. Feet pattering only slightly, Batman raced his way towards the body. They were headed towards the water. Almost immediately Batman could feel the frigid air burning him. 

Doing his best to ignore it, Batman glided up and onto the other side the moment he spotted the Joker below. He could hear the ragged breathing of someone who had been running for their life. It made him slower. 

Batman curled his fists. One step and he was dropping down onto the clown's shoulders. Legs fell under the weight with a strangled yelp. At first Batman was prepared to break the Joker's nose, his fist already in the air- 

He stopped in one abrupt motion.

Confusion spiralled through his every nerve. He dropped his hand and searched the man he was sitting on top of. It wasn't the Joker. He wasn't even close to Joker.

"Don- Don't hurt me, please," begged the man, gulping and shaking. Sweat beaded down his forehead.

Batman's mouth turned down in a snarl he tended to reserve for the Joker. The frusteration was beginning to crawl up on him. Each second that passed by was a second where the Joker escaped. He grabbed a fist full of the man's coat and dragged him up so that he was face to face with Batman.

"What are you doing here?" he spat through bared teeth.

The man flinched in Batman's grasp. He trembled visibly. "I- I'm- I'm not- I can't-"

Batman tightened his grip and shook the man. It elicited a squeak, and the tight squeeze of his eyes. A single tear slipped down his face.

"They'll..." He swallowed harshly. "They'll kill me. Please, I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die..."

He continued on with that mantra. His words blundered out desperately. Quiet sobs eventually racked his body.

Batman's grip slipped. He dropped the crying man back to the ground, his own eyes staring blankly into the distance. They flicked across the empty landscape of water stretching out for what seemed like an infinite distance. His mind felt like muddled sludge.

_They._

He had to find the Joker. If he had wanted to before it was no comparison to the need he felt in that moment. Inside his chest squeezed painfully with every inhale, like he was stuffed in a room covered in flames and the smoke was suffocating him slowly. He pushed it back in his mind; attempted to ignore it.

Batman leaned over the man and spat. "Who are they?" he demanded. 

The stranger continued to plead for his life, which made Batman frown. He was tempted to pick him up again, but was quickly distracted. 

The noise of a gunshot came from directly behind him. It hit his armour but didn't pierce - just as it was intended for. Batman turned just in time for a heeled shoe to fly down on his chest.

Stumbling back, Batman reformed in a blink by swinging his leg out to sweep the attacker down with him. He heard more than saw them fall. Both of them were up in an instant, Batman with a batarang and the other with their revolver.

The Joker giggled but held his stance. Red was encrusted in his hair, but it seemed black in the darkness. Batman blinked off his heat vision. All of the clown was ripped up clothing, dirt, and smeared makeup by then. Batman wondered if he looked the same.

He turned away from those thoughts. There were more important matters. Not knowing what else to say, Batman decided to get right to the point with them.

"What is the syringe for?" he asked. He did his best to sound less angry than curious.

"We've been over this, Bats," the Joker answered. 

He blinked. Despite the smile, Batman knew that expression. Joker had gone hard. There was almost no way of getting to him. About this topic, at the very least. 

In a flash, Batman had his arm moving the weapon pointed away from him and the Joker in a threatening head lock. Fine, he decided. He would go for a different topic then.

"Ah ho ho ho," the Joker cooed. His eyes fluttered closed, and his smile grew. "Gotta say, Bats, I'm loving all the contact tonight."

"Where have you been?" Batman asked back, ignoring the comment all together.

The Joker laughed, but it was strangled by Batman's arm. Although, Batman could feel a smidge of tension strike through the Joker's muscles. He could have imagined it, but somehow he was doubting that.

"What a curious bat you are," the Joker mused calmly.

A dagger was brought out and swung down at Batman's bad leg, but it never landed. Batman swerved away before the knife could sink in, but was caught off guard just enough for the Joker to jump up and push them both to the ground. The cool blade was pressed up under Batman's chin. His eyes met the Joker's, and for a moment they stayed like that. Both gulped; blinked. The Joker beamed again.

"Knew ya missed me, but I hadn't been thinking like this."

Batman reached up and easily rolled over to pin the Joker down. 

"Don't kid yourself," he snapped back while digging his hands into the the Joker's wrists. The pressure caused the clown to release any weapons.

Chuckling darkly, the Joker pointed his chin up at Batman. "I won't tell you anything, Batsy. Hurts that you don't know me well enough to realise that."

Batman narrowed his eyes. The Joker was right, obviously. No matter the question there would be no answer. Just another short fight sequence. Knowing them it could last all night and it would still get them no closer to the truth. 

Stubborn bastard.

A thought struck Batman then. It was all too obvious. All he would have to do was change up the game. Shake up the Joker. No more questions. Answer for himself.

Based on the looks they were giving each other, the Joker knew all too well that something big was coming. He tutted softly.

"If you're gonna hit me then at least watch the jaw. Kinda sore from earlier still."

Batman hopped up in one solid movement with his fingers clasped tight around the Joker's shirt. Knowing full well that the clown was too tall to be held above him, Batman closed his hand around Joker's throat and the other in his hair.

The Joker - quite literally - choked out a snort. He wrapped his own bony gloved hands around Batman's, but didn't struggle too much. 

"Man," he gasped. "You're so- handsy today."

"You changed your signature," Batman rasped in answer. He noticed the shift immediately. 

A grin spread across his cheeks. Anyone else would have only noticed that. Except Batman wasn't anyone. He had memorised the expressions after all these years. This wasn't the normal happy go lucky feeling nor the cynical mastermind. 

The Joker's eyes narrowed. He tightened his hold on Batman, and his irises visibly darkened with his pupils. It wasn't visible to anyone else, especially from afar, but Batman took note without the blink of an eye. 

"You noticed!" exclaimed the Joker. 

Even his voice sounded happy. It sent a chill down Batman's spine. The man was a master of deception; extremely dangerous. It was frightening in most any other situation.

"Y'know, I really appreciate that, babe. I had been hoping you would notice it."

Key words, Batman thought. He focused on those even as the Joker's leg wrapped around his leg and pulled in a way that they both tumbled to the ground once again. Back to the ground, a knuckle upper cut his jaw, and Batman spit out the blood running from his bitten tongue. He took the Joker by the shoulders and pushed him up so that he could land a kick directly to the gut.

Both of them spluttering, Batman pushed himself back to his feet. He put his fists up in preparation. The Joker followed, though his arms remained hanging down loosely.

"See, I'd been talking with these people," the clown continued. "They were messing around with me, and we created a little inside joke. And who better to bring in on it than my dearest friend, the Batman?"

Batman tensed at that. So he had been correct then. Joker had intensionally written his name wrong in order to get his attention. From what was being said it was likely that the reason was some sort of group as well. Was that the they that man had been going on about?

Hooking on to that thought, Batman came to the realisation that the sobbing had stopped some time ago. He looked around for the source, but the man was absent as well. 

"Where did he go?" he muttered just loud enough for the Joker to have heard.

The Joker turned to look as well, also finding the man to have left. He looked back to Batman and shrugged. 

"How would I know?"

Batman took the foot flying towards him and twisted it to catch the Joker's dagger wielding arm. Joker's head whipped back and cracked Batman on the nose, but before either could escape they were caught up in a tangle against one another. 

Nose bleeding, Batman held the dagger arm out from both of them. His leg was wrapped around the Joker's with Joker's back pressed to his chest. Their other arms were completely intertwined. They both breathed heavily in the moment of rest; listened to how each other exhaled, inhaled. The Joker's head fell forward, and Batman saw red drop steadily from his painted mouth.

"He was one of your friends," Batman whispered. 

This time it wasn't in his detective voice. He simply wanted to speak. Both were exhausted, and it was beginning to show through. The Joker didn't object to the resting tone. Just listened. 

Batman loosened his grip on the Joker's arm, and both dropped their hands to their sides, but otherwise made no more moves.

"He mentioned a group," Batman continued gruffly. "He said they would hurt him. Did you have anything to do with that?"

Joker coughed out a laugh. His body shuddered against Batman's front from the short noise. Neither were in the mood for keeping up with fighting. That was plainly obvious.

"You read my note, right? It's a party, Bats. There tend to be more than two people attending."

Heart skipping a beat, Batman inhaled sharply. His grip around the Joker tightened considerably, but the clown didn't appear to mind. White eyes fixed on their surroundings. Suspicion crept up on him.

"They're here," he mumbled in half of a question.

The short nod he received was enough for Batman to lose any precautions and skip directly towards conclusions. Except...

All of this could still have been a trick. Joker could have made up all of this as some sort of twisted joke to make Batman think he was in trouble when it was really just a lure. He could be stepping directly into the trap.

The Joker twisted to look him in the eyes. The connection that they weren't playing any more sparked in his expression as well. Something about the look he had made Batman's anxieties towards the situation calm some. 

As a vast contradiction, the back of Batman's neck prickled. Knowing that there were people - armed, no doubt - watching them had his senses tingling. They were completely uncovered. Standing out in the open could easily get them both killed. The Joker most easily. He wasn't even wearing armour. Idiot clown never had had any sense of self preservation.

Batman clenched his teeth together. The car was parked a block or two away, but if he had enough leverage he could get himself out and over to it. Not without scratches, but it was possible.

He pushed the Joker off of him. The cold hit him the moment they parted. Joker's own shiver confirmed he had felt the same. 

"You best not be lying to me," Batman hissed. He took out a batarang and pointed it towards Joker.

The Joker beamed and scoffed. "Oh, c'mon, Bats. When have I ever lied to you?"

The words were cut short by a bang. Batman heard the bullets before he even saw them all.

Each fire tore through the air like it was slicing the frigid air all together. Armed people shot at them from protection above and behind the crates; completely surrounding their every chance at escape.

Batman rushed towards the Joker, who was shooting wildly back at their attackers. The weapon shot out a little flag that said _Bang!_ before long, and Joker sneered. 

"Ah, fiddlesticks," he said.

Bullets flew off of the kevlar armour covering Batman, but a few sliced through. He pushed the sting to the back of his mind for the time being. He dodged more and hopped up to throw a batarang at the main shooter. In the corner of his vision he caught the Joker peddling backwards. At the same time another attacker popped out. 

They aimed directly at the Joker's back.

He wasn't certain what he had been doing. Something in his mind had made his feet push off harder than he had meant to, and before he had realised his arms were wrapped around the Joker. Distantly he heard the Joker shout, but it was overpowered by the noise of a gunshot.

The Joker slipped out of his hold, but Batman didn't pay too much attention. He whirled back to the shooters and tossed a grenade. Light imploded across their line of vision within a second of landing at their feet. 

While the grenade was still doing its work, Batman swung back towards them. He found the nearest attacker and picked up their gun, smacking them over the head with it. 

Unfortunately for Batman, this left him wide open. A strong pair of arms latched around his neck and pulled to a point where even with the armour Batman was struggling to breathe. Someone called out his name. Most likely the Joker. He ignored it.

Choking lamely, Batman used the head lock as a quick propeller to jump up and kick someone off of the crate. Directly afterwards Batman pulled out a dagger and swung behind himself. He silently thanked the Joker for not taking back his weapon. 

A scream rang out, though it was quiet against the ring of the grenade or the constant discharge and reload of guns. Batman grimaced. He didn't want to see what damage had been done.

It didn't take long for the rest of their unit to be taken down. Ten, fifteen seconds at most. Some ran before they could get a beat down, which made his part infinitely easier. Smart choice, if Batman had anything to say about it. Not to mention it made it all go by far faster.

However, he and Joker would have to move fast to get out. He had an inkling feeling that more would be coming back to finish the job.

Whatever that job may be.

Batman turned back to the water portion and hopped down. Though not surprised, Batman still found himself grounded when he found that the Joker wasn't there. 

Yes, Joker was a runner, but he wasn't an idiot. Most of the time. This wasn't one of the times he would be. With all of the surrounding forces there was almost zero chance of escaping without backup. The Joker was aware of that.

Batman searched around the area for any signs of where he could have went. No blood splatter around the edges or purple tail coats flickering around the crates. Not even a strad of hair. 

He meant didn't run off. That was great, at least. Batman wouldn't have to go on another futile search attempt only to most likely get in to another fight. He breathed out a relieved sigh at that thought. 

Except, a tugging sickness erupted in his stomach only a moment later. When he was busy being strangled they could have taken Joker, he realised. For some reason the word _again_ blared painfully in his mind. 

He forced himself to stop. A deep breath rattled his lungs, and Batman rolled his shoulders back. He needed to think back. It had only been, what, a minute? Since then they had been separated, but not too far. In fact, the amount of space between them hadn't been that much. Even with the extra noise it was still audible to hear each other.

The call. Someone had called his name. Batman whipped around to where he thought he had heard it. Closer towards the water, but more to the right from where he had left Joker.

He didn't have much time, he knew. Everything felt like it was going faster than it was, but even so Batman felt like someone would pop up and shoot him down before he could blink. Not only that, but it was doubtful that anyone had not called the GCPD. All of those workers over on the other side of the docks must have heard the commotion. The police would do doubt be arriving sooner rather than later.

Batman shook out his bad knee and hurried over to where he thought where the Joker might have been last. The only trace was the water splashed up on the cement. No sign of where the Joker could have gone was present other than that. Footsteps, blood, anything, it was all absent.

Batman tensed. Of course. The _water._

It was too cold for the waves to roll up. Most of the lake was frozen over due to the below freezing temperatures. There was no way the cement would be wet without an outside force.

"Shit," he realised.

In an instant Batman had torn off his cape. They were lucky that it hadn't been long. The only he hope he had was that it hadn't been _too_ long. 

Batman took in a deep breath, then exhaled. He turned up his heat adjustors, flicked on his oxygen mask, and leapt in to the lake.

The freezing water was immediate. Even with the warmth radiating on from his suit, Batman shuddered. He pushed downwards still. Each stroke left him feeling as though he were going numb from the fingers up. The Joker would be an icicle if he was under.

The lake was far too dark. Lack of sun from above and Gotham's polluted air had mixed in to form a muggy darkness that he couldn't see through. The Joker was closer to the bottom by then, he knew, but Batman couldn't help but wonder where that was. The lack of brightness made it difficult to see anything, let alone which direction he was going in.

He searched frantically for some sort of torch. He went through all of his gear's settings, but found nothing. Quickly he turned to his utility belt and patted down any and all of his packs. The thought to ask Alfred for a light design pressed in to his thoughts.

After what felt like a full five minutes but was probably only seconds, Batman came across a tiny battery powered flash light. He struggled to hold it in the swirling water, but eventually was able to click on the switch.

Only a small portion was viewable, but Batman took it as more of a win than anything else he had been doing. He found the way down and started swimming that way while using his light to look around every direction. He couldn't even feel it with his fingers being frozen.

At every absent turn his chest became tighter and tighter. If he didn't find the Joker soon there was a good chance he wouldn't find him at all. There was also a chance that he was wrong and that the clown hadn't fallen back in to the icy cascade of water, but Batman highly doubted that. With the amount of time passing there was a possibility that if he did locate the Joker he wouldn't even find him-

Batman propelled himself further down. He strayed away from the very idea of that. It wouldn't happen.

Though it wasn't very deep yet, he could still feel the pressure against his suit. He flicked the torch around faster. Any more and he wouldn't be able to stand it.

Then, at last, he saw it.

It was only a flash of green, but it was enough to make Batman force himself downwards. There was nothing that brightly colored in Gotham's murky waters. If there were even a possibility…

Surely enough, the Joker floated further and further downwards. His hair was matted and his body was limp as he sunk slowly downwards. Usually bright eyes were shut closed. Pale skin showed a dull blue tinge. To Batman's nauseating realisation, Joker's mouth was open.

He didn't even bother to check for a pulse. The moment Batman had the Joker in his hold he pulled the clown to his chest and began to hurry upwards. Within seconds they breeched the surface. Just like everything else that night, Batman had over estimated how long it had taken to find Joker. For once he wasn't frustrated by that idea.

Batman dragged the Joker up on the surface. He still hadn't taken a breath. Despite the dizziness sweeping through him, Batman looked passed it to check for a pulse.

It took one long, draining moment, but eventually a pulse could be located. It was, just as Batman had expected, far slower than it should have been, but he couldn't help to feel slightly relieved. It washed away when he thought back to the fact that the Joker still hadn't taken a breath, and that his skin was the temperature of a freezer.

All ready positioned, Batman pressed down on the Joker's chest - _hard_. Twenty nine more.

The thought of the Joker dying flashed through his mind. Lipstick smeared, hair plastered to his forehead and dripping wet, the Joker could easily lose himself in that moment. Whether it be from hypothermia or oxygen deprivation, it was a possibility. If Joker could have seen himself he would have hated it. Probably laughed it off. He tended to do that when he was in danger. Always laughing.

Batman frowned deeply. Tingling shot up and through him like a frenzy, and his head throbbed painfully. He could practically hear that giggling itself. He could almost see that face splitting grin.

Batman shook his head. Just the chest compressions weren't working, and he knew it. If anything they were most likely just adding more damage. He wiped his dripping nose and clamped down on the Joker's. 

He couldn't die. Not yet. There were too many questions.

"God forgive me," Bruce muttered.

He pressed his lips to the Joker's and exhaled the precise amount before coming back up to resume the CPR. He watched as the Joker's chest fell, then pressed on.

He did this twice more before the panic began to truly settle in. The Joker hadn't moved at all. Other than the mandatory breathing from the process, he wasn't doing much of anything. He was supposed to have gotten up by now. In any other case Batman would have called for an ambulance, but that obviously wasn't an option.

He growled and tore off the Joker's soaked clothes. The hypothermia wasn't going to help. He should have done it earlier, he knew, but he had been a bit distracted by the fact that the clown wasn't breathing. _Still_ wasn't breathing.

Batman stopped short when he was faced with the bruising patterns laced across Joker's torso. He knew what ribcage bruising looked like, and some of them certainly weren't like it. There were old raised scars, some of which Batman himself had inflicted, but others were new. Barely stitched together, still red and agitated. Batman was surprised none of them had torn open during their fight.

He would have to ask the Joker about them later. When he woke up. If he did.

Setting himself up again, Batman leaned down to start rescue breaths once more.

He hadn't even started when coughing smile sent Batman reeling back. 

The Joker spluttered and turned his head to spit out some water. Even with the wince he took, the clown laughed, and shakily wiped some hair from his eyes.

"I think I might still be out, Bats," he rasped. "Give me another kiss, will you?"

Batman snarled. Rage flared up in an instant, and he wondered if he should have let Joker die anyway.

"You were _pretending_?" he snapped, feeling his blood boil. 

Even as he said it he saw the Joker struggle to take in a breath as he shivered. A twinge of regret shot through Batman.

"Not really," Joker answered. 

Straight forward. Which was a definite no to the _Are you okay?_ question. Batman's anger simmered down to pure guilt. The man almost died and he was all ready blaming him. To think a few minutes ago he had panicked over this.

The Joker coughed suddenly, bringing Batman back. His skin was still pale from lack of air and cold. 

"Ouchie," Joker brought out, though his lips pulled up in a slight smile. 

Batman pulled over his still dry cape and lifted the Joker to sit against him. He wrapped the material around the clown. Both of them froze when they heard the distant sound of sirens.

"Fuck," Batman voiced. "We need to get out of here. Now."

The Joker looked about ready to fall in to a coma, but forced his eyes to stay on Batman. He grinned.

"Whatever you say, darling."

Batman rubbed his face. He knew this wasn't going to work out well. He had carried the Joker before, but those times it was over the shoulder or when he was unconscious. Seeing as his abdomen was far too injured and he wasn't exactly out anymore, it could easily get difficult. 

With a deep sigh, Batman wrapped his arms underneath Joker's legs and back. To his utter surprise, the clown didn't say a word. He just turned and rested his head against Batman's chest plate. 

Although a bit shocked, Batman figured it was normal. The Joker was most likely exhausted after the whole not breathing ordeal, and with the frozen feeling he had it probably wouldn't go away until he got some full rest. Both of them needed it, no doubt. 

The sirens brought him back once more. They were closer this time. Batman looked around for extra measure, but found no one. He looked down at the Joker as well. Although his eyes were closed, Batman could tell he was awake. 

"Are you gonna keep staring or get a move on?" Joker mumbled and peeked open an eye.

Batman, for what felt like the hundredth of the night, scowled. He turned back up again.

He veered to the car.


	4. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce is stressed, Joker is in trouble and Alfred is a good dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: gore
> 
> \--
> 
> Hey everyone! Back at it and this time much faster! Next chapter should be up in the same amount of time, but the end of next week is the latest. Again, thank you all for reading!! Your comments make my day and I love seeing you all so much honestly thank you <3
> 
> And now, I present, chapter four!

They needed to tend to their wounds.

Every time Bruce moved he could feel his knee stretching in a way that joints aren't supposed to. The fact that he was sitting rather helped, but even then it was annoying. There were other much worse injuries as well. He tried not to think too much about those ones.

He risked a glance at the Joker. The clown was quiet for once. If Bruce were being honest he would have admitted it was almost uncomfortable to not hear the Joker making noise. He knew he wasn't exactly used to having the Joker around, but every time in the past years - they had known each other - there was not a moment where silence had ensued between them. Bruce had always argued for quiet, told Joker to shut up, but he hadn't thought it would be so _jarring_.

He only looked back at the road when Joker's lidded eyes flicked back over. His hair was still a mess from the lake water. With the running makeup, bits of dirt and blood across him there was no idea in Bruce's head that doubted the Joker hated their situation. At least he was dry.

Bruce could still feel the Joker's eyes on him two minutes after he had continued to drive. They were slower after they had outrun the GCPD, which helped Bruce to decide what he was about to do. 

Somehow they would have to get back to the cave. Or the manor, at the very least. He didn't exactly want the Joker knowing where the cave was located, but a man as intelligent as him had most likely figured it out all ready. Even so, the thought set something wrong in Bruce's gut. 

Bringing the Joker right in to his home was more risky than most of the activities he took to nearly every night. If Joker escaped and told any of his 'friends' about it - or him; that sent a shudder up Bruce's spine - then it would lead to a whole new box of possibilities.

He could practically hear Alfred's yelling already. Taking in a man as dangerous as the Joker? Only an idiot would do that.

Bruce nearly laughed at himself. He really was an idiot, wasn't he? Somehow he had gotten himself wrapped up in an organisation who, for some reason, wanted him dead. That was the normal part, wasn't it? Throughout all of it, he had run from the police, saved his worst enemie's life, and then proceeded to _bring him home._

It would make headlines tomorrow morning, he realised suddenly. Today it had been Bruce Wayne with the front page, tomorrow it would be Batman. _Gotham's Own Caped Crusader Seen Running From Police - With the Joker? Has the Bat Finally Gone Bad?_

Bruce grimaced at the very thought of it. It would be a hellhole until it cleared up. Not to mention Gordon was going to be on his ass for it. Bruce felt the need to groan and bang his head off of the dashboard. 

All he wanted to do was get some fucking sleep.

Bruce tensed when he heard the Joker clear his throat. He saw Joker shift out of the corner of his vision, but never turned to actually check.

"Hey, uh, Bat?" Joker asked, though it was more of a statement. "You've got, er- you've got a little blood on your suit."

At last, Bruce sighed. He looked at Joker with a pinched frown. Before he could get in a crash he followed where the Joker was talking about, only to find what he all ready knew was there. He looked back at the road and blinked.

"Hm," he grunted.

The choked noise Joker made was what Bruce assumed was a laugh. "You have a bullet wound and all you can say is hm?"

Bruce's nose twitched. He was beginning to realise he had appreciated that silence a lot more than he had thought.

"What else should I say?" he asked back.

Even hypothermic and recovering from a near drowning experience the Joker somehow found a way to be over the top. He scoffed loudly and turned to face Batman, though didn't receive a glance, and used far too many distracting hand motions for Bruce to focus.

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe, 'Oh shit!' or 'Oh, Jay-" from what Bruce imagined there were fluttering lashes there, "-thank you for pointing out this travesty! Could you please help me so I don't _die_?'"

Bruce inhaled slowly. His teeth grit together. "I'm not going to die, Joker. Don't be so dramatic."

"You won't," Joker agreed, turning back to sit forward. 

Bruce saw him cross his arms, but he must have regretted it for he soon dropped them again. 

"But you could," added the Joker in a much lower tone.

This time Bruce couldn't help but roll his eyes again. He sped up a bit. He couldn't find it within himself to care about the Joker knowing the cave's location anymore. As long as the drive was _over_.

Again, they fell in to quiet. Neither spoke a word for what felt like an hour. The only noise was the steady rap of Joker's fingers tapping on the door handle.

Taking all of the backstreets of Gotham to arrive faster was helping pass at least some time, but it still didn't distract Bruce from the thought of how dragged out it felt. Had it been this long last time? It hadn't seemed that long getting there.

Joker made a sudden noise of confused protest. His fingers stopped, and he turned, though the motion must have been uncomfortable if the flinch were any indication.

Bruce looked over his shoulder to where Joker was searching. He raised a brow under the mask. "What? Is it the police?"

Joker twisted back around to Batman. He pointed with his thumb behind himself. 

"You passed Arkham," he informed.

Bruce let out a gruff hum. "Would you like me to turn around? Because I will."

"No! No," Joker exclaimed. A bit too loudly, if Bruce weren't imagining it. 

When he thought about it, Joker had avoided the topic earlier as well. Although normally defensive about going back to that place - reasonably; it was a shit show there - he had seemed almost extra jumpy about it today. Bruce added it to his list of questions to ask later.

"Don't worry, darlin, I'm glad to be going wherever you take me," Joker continued. Bruce could practically hear the smile. It was soon followed by a gasp, then the sound of a hand clapping over one's mouth. Whispering, Joker giggled. 

"No..." he chuckled. "You're not taking me to the- the _bat cave_ are you?"

When Bruce didn't answer, Joker gave a little squeal of pure excitement. If he weren't driving Bruce would have closed his eyes to drain out his frustrated sigh. 

"You are! Oh, Batsy, you know I've always wanted to go there. Tell me, is it nice? Expensive, I bet. Golly, you know how to treat a girl. Ooh, can I-"

"Shut up," Bruce ordered. 

Joker complied, to his amazement. The clown was full of surprises that night, it seemed. Bruce gave another long breath. Relief flooded through him once more.

Not long after that, Bruce started to regret the decision. Having glanced over quickly once more, Bruce found that the Joker looked a bit...upset? He wasn't quite certain what to call it. 

Guilt swirled in his stomach for the second time that evening. He curled in his lips and blinked hard. Forcing out the words, Bruce tried not to sound like he absolutely hated the conversation.

"It's not a _bat cave,_ " he grumbled. The Joker seemed to perk up immediately. Bruce licked his lips. "It's just a cave."

Joker sucked in a questioning breath. "Yes, yes, _but_ \- now here me out, Bats, just listen - you're Batman."

Bruce squinted. "Yes."

"And it's a cave, correct? With bats, presumably?"

Bruce nodded hesitantly. "Yes. Technically."

The Joker nodded as well. "Sooo..." He waved his hand as if that finished the rest of the thought for him. Upon noticing that Batman hadn't moved at all, he scoffed again. 

"Come on, it only makes sense! You know I'm right. There's no denying it, Bat."

Bruce kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to get in an argument with the Joker. Especially over something so futile. They just needed to get back. He needed to _focus_. That was all.

Except, the Joker wasn't going to have that. He continued to talk. Bruce couldn't help but notice the slight slur in his words despite never actually knowing what Joker said. The injuries must have been catching up at long last. If Bruce were to say that his own weren't he would be lying.

Only a few short minutes later did Bruce notice that Joker had stopped talking entirely. Bruce began to wonder when that had ended, but found he didn't care that much. When he took a look at Joker he didn't appear to have passed out. That didn't surprise Bruce in the slightest. He had seen the clown in far worse situations where he didn't even think to rest. Though, to be fair, this was a close call for both of them.

Bruce bit his lip. He still hadn't taken off his cowl, so the motion was a bit awkward, but he was used to the feeling by that point. They were close to the manor. If Joker were paying attention he would be able to figure it out, but something in Bruce needed to know even with it. The notes could have been sent through someone else. The Joker might not...

With a hard turn that had the Joker slapping his hand on the door to keep himself balanced, Bruce swirved to a parking spot in the dark corner of nowhere.

"Fuck," Joker exhaled. He looked at Batman through muddy hair. "What the hell are you doing? Thought you said we're going to the bat cave."

"It's not..." Bruce gave up and closed his eyes. "We are. But there is something I need to know before we get there."

This appeared to have made the Joker curious. He sat up in his seat - his back cracked in a sickening way - and wriggled around to look at Batman. He rested his cheek on his palm. 

"What's up, Bat? I don't have fleas, if you're worried about keeping your precious cave sanitary. Although..."

" _Joker_."

Joker rolled his eyes. He smiled slightly, but it was smaller than usual. "Fine, fine. What'cha got?"

In that moment, for some damned reason, Bruce couldn't make out the words. He could only stare at Joker, ever so curious, with dulled eyes and a pulse racing so fast he was certain it would break his ribcage entirely.

Books always described it as a feeling of cotton in their mouth because everything had gone so dry, or like their mind had fogged over. 

Bruce didn't understand that. It wasn't correct. That wasn't how it went. There wasn't some profound moment where his tongue went numb and his brain short circuited. All there was was this terrible churning in his stomach, and this immovable object lodged deep in his throat. 

He could think clearly. Almost too clearly, actually. All he could focus on was the answer that the Joker would give. No, wait, that wasn't right. The answer didn't bother him at all. The next question was what floored Bruce to his spot. He knew, deep within him, that he would not like the response. He wasn't certain if he wanted to know it at all.

"Uh-" came a short call. "Batsy? You in there?"

Bruce looked deep in to the Joker's eyes. From this close he could see the red rings around them and the dark purple bags peeking through underneath. He was probably exhausted. Maybe even more than Bruce was.

He had to ask, Bruce concluded. No matter what they had to tend to their injuries soon, but there was no way they could do that if he didn't know. So, at last, Bruce swallowed through that pressure in his throat.

"Do you know my identity?" he voiced.

The air of uncomfortable silence that went between them stuck for only a short second. The Joker's face contorted to one of his signature laughs. It was quickly followed by shaking shoulders from the effort to hold back intense giggling. A hand shot up to cover his face.

Bruce watched with increasing displeasure. It certainly was not what he had been expecting when it should have been what he had thought of first. When had the Joker ever done anything expected of him?

Pursing his lips, Batman was about to snap something out, but the Joker reached out an placed a hand on Batman's arm. Somehow it brought him to stunned silence. It was then that he realised that Joker was using him as support. He was trying not to curl in on himself.

_Shit._

Joker inhaled and wheezed in a way that was certainly not a laughing manner. When he breathed out it was a shudder inducing crackle of his lungs. Bruce watched as a thin string of blood dripped from his painted lips. The hand on Bruce's shoulder tightened immeasurably, and Bruce couldn't hold himself from placing his hand over Joker's.

Fuck knowing. They could wait until later. Joker looked like he wanted to protest when Bruce turned back to the wheel and began speeding along, but when he had to lean over to stop himself from spitting blood everywhere he said nothing.

Before Bruce knew it he was rushing in to the cave's entrance. Due to being bent in on himself, Joker hadn't seen it at all, but Bruce didn't even care. The sound Joker's lungs were making- Bruce couldn't make himself think about anything else.

He leapt out of the vehicle the moment they were parked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alfred hurrying towards him, but Bruce pointed back while he opened the Joker's door. 

"Get a cot," he ordered quickly. 

The moment the door opened his eyes landed on the Joker's gangly form - and the crimson spot on the back of his head. That, and the multiple lacerations on his bare back.

"Wait," he growled out before Alfred could get far. Bruce reached in and took up the clown in his arms. " Fuck the cot. Just prepare the med bay."

One look at the Joker in Bruce's arms had Alfred scowling. Although he went ahead to set up the equipment, he still took the time to send Bruce a deadly glare.

"This is a terrible idea," he input while Bruce set the Joker down on a table.

Bruce limped over to the oxygen tanks without a word and pulled it over to hook up to Joker. He placed the mask over the clown's face, who only looked up at him and blinked. They fluttered closed a second later, and Joker went cold. 

For a moment Bruce's chest tightened. It dissipated as soon as it came. It was better this way. Alfred wasn't at as much risk if Joker was passed out. Even with that, he clamped down cuffs on Joker's wrists to the arm rests.

"Just get him stabilised," Bruce grumbled. He met Alfred's gaze again.

Not speaking, Alfred removed his waist coat and rolled up his sleeves. He watched as Bruce walked away and towards the lift. 

"And what will you be doing in the mean time?" he called out.

Bruce stopped and eyed the elevator buttons next to him. He glanced back over his shoulder, but not enough to truly look at either of the men. His fingers twitched over the up button, then pressed it.

"Call me when he's done with," he answered simply. 

He could tell Alfred was frustrated by that, but no reply came back. Bruce felt a bit of relief come off of his shoulders from that. Turning back around, Bruce began to strut away. He stopped once more only two steps in.

"Al?" He said it so softly that for a moment he thought that perhaps Alfred hadn't caught the sound.

Then, Alfred spoke. "Yes, Master B?"

The words struggled to come to Bruce's tongue. He closed his eyes and finally spun around to look Alfred head on. Even then he refused to look at the Joker.

He couldn't make himself speak. He only stood and stared at Alfred. Probably looking like an absolute fool.

The elevator took him up sharply.

\----

The moment he made it back upstairs he removed the suit.

When he took off the cowl, stale sweat stuck his hair to his forehead, but he found he didn't care all too much. It felt fantastic to get out of the restraint of it.

Bruce closed the door to his bathroom. He flicked on the light and stopped dead in his tracks. His reflection stared back at him with dulled blue irises. He looked even worse than he had expected. And that was before he had removed the rest of the armour.

Blood smeared across his chin, dried and definitely not belonging to him. Bags drew deeply underneath his eyes and sweat glistened in his oily hair. 

Bruce grimaced. He turned on the shower with little more thought. The sound of the water squeaking on and pounding the tiles was far more soothing than the ringing in his ears.

He carefully maneuvered out of the clothes. Every wrong movement made Bruce wince as his knee jerked in a way it wasn't supposed to. Next came the gauntlets, which came off with simple ease. Steam began to infiltrate his vision.

Bruce licked his lips. A part of him twinged with regret for leaving Alfred alone to take care of the Joker. It was dangerous. If Joker woke up there was a possibility that he would lash out and escape. Besides, it was rude of him to dump all of that on to Alfred and then leave to do whatever it was he needed to do.

Then again, he wouldn't have been much help. He didn't want Alfred to worry more than he needed to anyhow. That wasn't something he ever hoped to put on him. 

Bruce's fingers removed every piece of his chest plate with practiced ease. He slowed down when it came to actually pulling it up and off. Fresh blood stuck to it and tugged relentlessly to his undershirt.

He dropped it and sat down. His hands lingered over the spot on his shirt that was all ready blossoming with dark red. It clung to his skin in a sticky mess. Bruce picked up the material where it had remained dry and peeled it up slowly. His skin prickled as it pulled up his skin. The moment it came off Bruce let out a deep, shuddering breath, and he took it off.

The bullet had only grazed into him. His armour hadn't let it go in far enough to be life threatening, but it certainly hurt like hell. He grit down on his teeth to hold himself back while he opened the kit to dig out the piece. His lungs caught the moment the cool metal brushed his side, but he forced himself to breathe while he got the tweezers around the bullet and tugged it out.

Wheezing, Bruce dropped the bullet inside of the small bowl next to himself. The room was filled with steam by then, which didn't help with his all ready dazed feeling, but he didn't bother to turn down the heat. Instead he used the water on a rag to scrub off the dried blood. Fog threatened the corners of his sight, but Bruce blinked it away in one harsh movement. 

His hands shaking ever so slightly, he prepared the needle with disinfectant. The wound had been cleaned off at last, and the bleeding had come to a stop after the lodged bullet had been taken out. He wrapped the thread around the point and inhaled, shuddering. With as much care as he could muster, Bruce dug it in and started sewing his skin back together.

He ignored the pulling feeling as he stranded it through. Each wind around felt longer than the last. Eventually Bruce came to an end, and he finished off the injury. The needle and extra thread was dropped into the same bloodied bowl. 

Bruce climbed unsteadily into the shower and slid to the floor the moment he got in, not even bothering to take off his boxers. He felt as the water pelted his skin and burned him ever so slightly. He was certain that if he looked he would be a bright red. 

Without opening his eyes he reached over for the shampoo. He dropped a glob into his hair and scratched it through, then rubbed his face and arms from the disgusting feeling of dried sweat, blood and polluted city water. Each movement made his limbs feel even more weighted than the last.

Bruce let the shower do the rest of the work. He sat and closed his eyes. Water soaked through his every pour. Soap washed off and out of his clumped hair to leave it plastered to his forehead. He hung his head and kept an arm wrapped protectively around his middle. His bad knee numbed from the heat. The sensation of water dropping off of his eyelashes and across his lips had him snorting water from his nose.

His mind flashed back. Cool blue skin. Icy to the touch, chest not moving, and water dripping from every inch of a still body. Never had the Joker been so idle. Even under the extreme temperature Bruce shivered from the thought. Bile burned on his tongue. 

Turning off the shower, Bruce took in the humidity of the room. He suddenly found he didn't want to be there.

Bruce pulled himself out and did a lazy wipe over with a towel. The air when he opened the door sent a ripple down his spine, but he went out despite it. He threw his dirty clothes in the bin and limped over to his bed. 

For a moment he questioned if it would be a good idea to sleep. The Joker could be finished up with at any moment, and he had to ask as soon as possible. There were too many problems arising faster than he would have liked. 

It all went away the moment he sat down. Bruce didn't bother to get underneath the duvet before falling flat down into the mattress. Screw the Joker. The asshole could leave if that was what he wanted. Not Bruce's fault if he died on the street. 

He fell asleep with that thought on his mind.

\----

When he woke up it didn't feel _real_.

His head was swimming from the dark colors of his dream state. Part of him knew he hadn't dreamed a thing, but the other half hoped he had; wished and prayed that all of the chaos that had been happening was just some sort of comatose hallucination he had come up with in sleep. 

It was his first day back to work. He still had an appointment with Marcus. A normal one, that is. Albert Cunningham was still alive. Mabel Sacarello was simply some name on an article that had gotten into his subconscious. _The Joker wasn't in his house._

Bruce groaned and pushed the pillow further over his head. Someone was calling out for him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep. It was quiet there. No business affairs, galas, no insane criminals running through the streets dressed like a leprechaun or clown. It was all so _peaceful._

A delicate hand patted his shoulder.

"Bruce," the voice called out again. "You've been asleep long enough, sir."

Bruce relaxed some upon recognising Alfred's voice. He recalled being woken up the same way as a boy; turning over to see Al standing over him with a tray of tea and toasted bread. A sense of sereneness came over Bruce.

Slowly dragging his near numb arms out from above his head, Bruce turned over to find a bright room. He squinted against the light, but didn't have to once Alfred stood in the line of sunshine breaking through. Bruce smirked gratefully. Then, it fell.

"What time is it?" he rasped with a voice hoarse from sleep. 

Bruce turned to see his clock but grimaced when his stitches pulled. He looked down and saw Alfred follow the gaze. They hadn't torn in his rest, which was certainly good. But they were tender. They obviously hadn't been done by a steady hand.

"Shit," Bruce voiced. He grunted and began to drag himself to sit against the headboard.

Alfred's hand brushed against Bruce's shoulder to aid him up to a sitting position. It was then that Bruce noticed he was under the covers. He raised a brow.

"Did you...?"

"Do you really have to ask that question, sir?" Alfred shot back with his own eyebrow raise.

Bruce choked a laugh. He nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Fair enough."

A spark of energy brought Bruce back to wakefulness. He ruffled his hair back, and he cleared his throat. He swung one leg off of the side of the bed.

"The Joker," he started,"is he finished with?"

Alfred didn't answer. He didn't need to. Bruce had seen the clock. The moment he had his entire body had stopped working for a solid thirty seconds.

Eventually Bruce was able to look at Alfred. They met eachother's eyes with reasonable glares of their own. Bruce clamped the bed sheets in his fists.

"You let me sleep for _over 24 hours?_ I told you to get me."

Alfred stayed silent even as Bruce struggled to slide to the edge of his bed. He let Bruce's emotions play out before saying a word, knowing from years of experience that getting in an argument with someone as stubborn as a Wayne was not a good plan.

"I have work, Alfred. And after a murder? I can't take that publicity. What will Gordon say? He all ready thinks I might be the killer, and this will not add up. The public is going to go crazy making accusations. They probably think I left the country. Bruce Wayne, running from law."

He continued on with the risks. He even went to how dangerous it could have been if Joker had woken up and decided to attack Alfred. Through it all Alfred remained stony. 

Bruce huffed a growl. He let his shoulders sag. His head was beginning to ache again from the sheer effort it took to get that all out. 

He watched as Alfred nodded in a calm manner and walked over to the closet. Fully washed armour was pulled out along with his suit. Both were set on the edge of the bed.

Alfred clamped his hands in front of himself. "Are you done now, sir? Or shall I go make some tea for the rest?"

The question struck Bruce directly in the chest. Somehow Alfred had always known how to make him feel like a child even as a full grown adult. He frowned in answer. This time Alfred walked over to stand in front of Bruce.

"You hadn't slept in nearly three days, sir. And with the injuries you hadn't bothered to mention," Bruce flinched at the bitter accusation despite Alfred's tone remaining perfectly steady,"you needed rest. If you hadn't there would be no way you could ever deal with any of the problems you listed off."

Bruce refused to look up from the carpet. A heaviness of scrutiny fell on him, and he couldn't quite bring himself to look at Alfred after having yelled at him like that. 

"Now," Alfred continued in a beat. "You have a conference today at eleven, but you have two hours until then. Shall I make breakfast, or would you rather skip right to speaking with our guest?"

Bruce's stomach rolled at the thought of eating. He rubbed his face with his palm and sniffed. "I need to see Joker," he confirmed.

Alfred's body moved away but quickly reappeared. He held the armour up for Bruce, who finally looked up. Alfred indicated for him to stand.

"You can do this yourself and struggle or I can help you. Your choice."

Bruce felt his muscles tighten at the meer idea of putting it all on by his own. The prideful side of him wanted to say he could do it, but when he stood and his head rushed he said nothing.

He heard the amused chuckle from Alfred before he even saw the smile. Bruce complied idly while Alfred ordered him around. Each piece clamped on and clicked in that same way Bruce was so used to. 

He took the cowl himself and met Alfred's curious but not surprised expression. Bruce held it close to his chest and shuffled awkwardly. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured, voice much smaller than he had wanted it to be. "You've always been better to me than I... You don't deserve to be treated that way."

Alfred tilted his head to meet Bruce's lingering eyes with an amused smile. If Bruce let himself see it he could find the affection as well.

"Thank you, Bruce."

Bruce hummed and placed the cowl into place. It felt strange without a cape, but it wouldn't be long before he got a replacement, so he didn't mind it all that much. He frowned.

"Is he awake?" he asked, only then realising that would be an important part of speaking with Joker.

Alfred sneered. He turned on his heel, and Bruce followed. They made their way to one of the entrances down.

"Unfortunately," Alfred drawled, "yes."

Bruce nearly laughed. If there was anything in the world that he could understand it was how annoying the Joker could be. Even if Alfred was not directly with him, just watching the clown was enough to drain energy.

Neither said anything while Bruce logged in the 'code.' The door swung open and the lift clanked open. Bruce shot Alfred one more look.

"Call me up if anything happens."

Alfred nodded. He watched as Bruce stepped in to the enclosed area then proceeded to type in the code for closing the door once more.

The sounds of metal grating downwards while Bruce descended to the cave sent his heart racing. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for for two days. Technically three weeks, but he wasn't going to think about that right then. 

Bruce swallowed down his growing sickness. He needed to focus. With rest it was far easier, but even then his thoughts kept straying. He sucked in a breath the moment he felt the elevator come to a stop. The rails came open.

It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Bruce has a long awaited talk with Joker...


	5. Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different conversations are made

There were multiple areas of the cave.

When first entering one would be faced with an open view of computers, armour, and memorabilia from many of Batman's escapes. Going farther in led to areas of small caverns such as the med bay, the vehicle park, and the changing area. Each included their own special offers for what was to be done in them.

The Joker was held in one of the more open caverns. Connected directly to the main area and med bay, it held one bed pressed up against the wall, a book shelf, and a light. It gave a clear shot to the main computer and elevator, but restricted sight to the transportation and changing rooms. 

Bruce had built it for the nights where he was injured too severely to get upstairs. Although it was unused, - for the most part - Bruce had found it a decent place to hole up in while he recovered.

Approaching the area, Bruce could clearly make out the chain. Alfred must have moved Joker and locked him up when he was still out. Bruce would have to thank him for that later.

With his back faced towards Bruce, Joker's back curved to a point where his spine was nearly visible. He was still in his suit, ripped and damaged as it was. The coat tails trailed off of the bed. One of them was almost falling off from where it had been torn. In the back of his mind Bruce made a note to get Joker something more comfortable. With the injuries he had acquired they must have felt far too restricting. 

It was then that Bruce saw that there weren't sheets on the bed. All there was was the cuffs linked to the floor. Joker must have been freezing still. If Bruce looked closely he could make out the occasional shudder run through the clown's hunched shoulders. Which was also not helpful towards Joker's wellbeing, but that could be dealt with on another occasion.

Bruce shifted a bit closer. Alfred had said Joker was awake, but the slow movements of breathing contradicted that. The thought of leaving crossed Bruce's mind faster than he would have liked to admit. Then, Joker inhaled sharply.

"You know, it's rude to stare."

Joker turned to look over his shoulder at the Batman. He was still coated with grime. Although he was even paler from blood loss, the layer of crusted red and dirt turned him a disgusting dust colored shade. 

Bruce pulled up a chair and sat down some way away from the Joker. He straightened his leg out to relieve pressure from his knee, then straightened out so his stitches would not pull. The injury flared in a constant reminder of how it was still there.

Having noted the change in posture, the Joker manoeuvred around to sit facing Batman. Bruce watched the protective arm around Joker's ribs drop. It fell the moment that he was sitting. The Joker tucked his legs in the criss cross position, and he leaned forward with a wide grin.

"We're getting serious then, huh?" He chuckled softly and tapped the bed. "All right. Hit me, Bats! What's your best?"

Bruce's lips turned down at the corners. He did not reply at first. Instead he let himself eye the way Joker's body twitched when he inhaled too far, and the way that his hair stood in the back from the bandage pressed to the head wound. 

He had forgotten to ask Alfred the extent of the Joker's wounds before he went down. Guessing he would say broken ribs, maybe a slight concussion, the after effects of both hypothermia and a dislocated shoulder. All in all the Joker was beaten to a pulp that night. The only manner of question was what else he had acquired before that point.

"Where were you in the past three weeks, Joker?" Batman snarled, though his words lacked a bite.

Joker tutted and sat back against the wall. He relaxed once he was able to lean back, but Bruce decided not to bring that up. Not yet, at the very least. 

"What do I get from this?" Joker questioned back. "I'm not going to give up such precious information without a present in return, darling."

Bruce's lips parted in partial surprise, but mostly plain disgust. He let out a grunt that was supposed to be a scoff, then curled his fists. 

He had to be kidding. He _had_ to be. All of this effort to get him there, to save him, all of the _risk_ , and he wanted something more?

"You're joking," said Batman with a voice stripped of all emotion.

Joker looked like he wanted to laugh, but held himself back. Bruce wriggled at that thought. His own injuries pulsed.

"For once, no."

Joker smiled, but his eyes said seriousness. He patted the bare mattress to a tuneless rhythm. Then, he stopped. His hands shook for only a second before he snatched them in a clapped them together. Bruce stared.

"It's not bad, I promise." 

He added a coy smirk for a sweet affect. Bruce didn't budge on his blank glare. At last, Joker groaned.

"Come on, Bats," he whined. A pout fell over his face. "Don't you trust me?"

Bruce actually let out a small laugh. He grimaced afterwards. 

"Not in the slightest."

Joker fell in to one of his rare frowns. Only a second later he was beaming again, but it was more forced than previously. 

"You need my information," rumbled the Joker. His words flowed in a threat between his bared teeth. "All I want is one teensy weensy favour. Which would you rather bargain on, Bat?"

Bruce's muscles strained from the effort he took to hold himself down. His ears began to buzz from how strong he clamped his jaw shut. Bringing himself to relax so that he would not pull stitching apart, Bruce grumbled deeply. 

" _One._ "

In an instant the Joker's expression lit up. His shoulders rolled back and his eyes gleamed with a spark of something that Bruce couldn't help to squirm away from. A regretful sensation told him he would almost certainly regret this later on.

" _Fan_ tastic!" Joker exclaimed. At long last he scooted forward once more. He rested his chin in his palms much alike to a young child. "Ask away, Batsy. I'm all ears."

Once again positioning to sit himself, Bruce also leaned farther towards the Joker. His nose twitched beneath the cowl. He repeated himself in slow, deliberate words.

"Where were you," Batman began,"the past three weeks?"

Bruce watched as the Joker's walls hardened. Even his eyes became guarded. For a moment Bruce wondered if Joker was going to back out of their deal. 

"Arkham," said the clown suddenly.

Doubt settled in Bruce's bones. The Joker must have seen it for he let out a gutteral laugh - which he seemed to instantly regret, but he didn't show it - and dropped his hands behind himself.

Then again, it made sense as to why Joker had been jumpy when it came to the subject of the asylum. If something went down in there then it clicked together like perfect pieces of a puzzle. Only, it was a single piece, and the entire game held a thousand.

"What?" Joker interrupted his thoughts. "Don't believe me? I'm hurt, Batsy. I thought we had made a deal."

Bruce puffed out a breath. He wrung his hands together. The answer had only raised more of the pieces to the table. What else should he have been expecting? 

"There was a break. All of Gotham witnessed it. I personally interviewed the staff." Bruce's eyes narrowed. He intentionally lowered his voice to growl. "Are you saying they're liars?"

Joker stared back at Bruce with normally emerald eyes as cold as the lake he had fallen into. It was only then that either of them noticed how close they were to one another. On a usual day being that distance apart was due to a fight; physical, hard labour to take each other down. Their even breaths mixed in. Bruce could make out the shivers wracking Joker. Joker could see the tension holding Bruce at a stand.

"No." 

Joker whispered it, as though that was the only way they could speak from their short distance apart. His eyes flicked between Bruce's; analysing the sight of the Batman whilst calm. More calm than their regular encounters, that is.

Confusion sparked in Bruce. He looked around every line and crease on Joker's dirtied face for a tell, but none came. 

"It was staged," Joker continued, as if sensing Bruce's question. "The staff didn't know. For a while I didn't know."

Bruce ran his hands over his legs - a habit he took when he was nervous or working over ideas - before catching himself. Joker took note, he knew. They pretended it never happened.

"Why?" Bruce hissed back, also finding himself to be quieter than before.

Joker's cheeks pushed up when he smiled. The corners of his eyes scrunched visibly at their angles. 

"You tell me, darling."

Both of them sat still. Searching for something but never finding it, Bruce pulled back against his chair. The Joker mirrored this action.

Bruce didn't bother hiding the way his arm wrapped around his torso. He had forgotten to take painkillers, and the sting was beginning to turn in to a full fledged fire. The Joker watched with interest.

"You were shot," mumbled the clown. He went silent for a moment with an expression deep in thought. "I forgot," he added meekly.

Bruce dropped his arm in favor for sitting back up to be face to face with Joker. No longer at close contact, they watched eachother's body language.

"Your condition was far worse."

Joker's lidded gaze flicked up to Batman's. He shimmied back further against the cool wall. 

"I would have been fine," he argued, though he didn't seem to put much effort into the bite.

"You would have died," Bruce snapped back. 

His voice left no room for argument. Joker must have seen reason with that for he didn't attempt to comment. Bruce let out a relieved breath.

"Your injuries," he continued on with the lead,"were far worse than what was inflicted from our fight. Near drowning and a few broken ribs shouldn't cause the symptoms you presented."

Joker's expression visibly walled off. A touchy subject, it seemed. Whatever happened must have been a big deal then. 

Bruce tilted his head. "We have a deal, Joker. If you refuse to talk, I will not hesitate to pull back-"

"Calm down, Bats," Joker interrupted. His nose twitched with his snarling smile. "I'm not going to keep it a secret. Despite common belief, I want this shit show over with too."

In an instant Bruce felt himself both tense and relax at the same time. It should have been obvious that the Joker wanted it over with. He was the one who wrote the letter in the first place. All the same, Bruce felt something rub him off in the wrong way. He narrowed his eyes at the clown.

"Do you?" he pushed in all curiousness. "What was the point of sending those letters then? Why grab my attention like that? You could have just done your normal routine and it would have had the same effect."

"Woah now, Batsy, slow down," Joker huffed, but the teasing smile pulling at his lips contradicted his words. "A girl can only take so much."

Winking at that, Joker wriggled in his seat. Bruce pressed down a frustrated groan. Pressure in his neck indicated to the oncoming headache. It was too early still.

"As much of a fan I am of the dramatics," Joker continued. He paused to smile when it seemed to catch Bruce's attention. "I'm not a fan of being the lion instead of ring leader."

Bruce's heart caught like a needle in his chest. Ears ringing, he blinked down. 

"Whoever these people were kept you hostage," he monotoned in thought. 

He had speculated that, obviously, but having it confirmed set a new edge to Bruce's thoughts. He tilted his head. 

"Why?" he proceeded.

The Joker shrugged. They hitched with his smile, but both parties acted as though it never happened. 

Again, Bruce let out an annoyed breath. His head dropped to his chest. He was still tired as fuck all. All he could think about was how warming his mattress sounded at that moment.

But rest could wait.

He blinked away his haze and made direct eye contact with Joker. The question that started these new ones resurfaced, but this time around it set a stop to his breathing. Bile stung his throat.

The Joker must have sensed the sudden change in atmosphere. He pressed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed so far that his knees knocked Batman's own. 

"C'mon, Bats, I can see you dying to ask it," he purred with a growing grin.

Bruce's shoulders hunched in. To anyone else that smile would be intimating as hell. Having known Joker for as long as he has, Bruce could only frown deeper at how it looked. He swallowed.

"You know what."

His back muscles tightened. Bruce cleared his throat again. A rough sigh escaped his lips, and Joker raised an eyebrow so high it nearly touched his hairline.

"Do I?" he played. The soft chuckle that reverberated in Joker's chest was strained, but playful all the same.

Bruce felt the urge to reach out and strangle the Joker. It wasn't a time to kid around. Not for him. _Them._ Still, it was clear that Joker wouldn't answer unless Bruce asked the question. Choking him out wouldn't get them any closer to a decision.

His body gave a shudder at the same time as Joker's. Both involuntary. Joker smiled bigger, but his cheek twitched. Bruce inhaled sharply.

" _Do you know who I am?_ " he bit.

The noise of the water dripping down from the cave wedged its way between them. Joker didn't crack a laugh. Bruce refused to breathe in the case that he might have vomited if he did. The silence between them was unsettling, somehow.

Green eyes flared before Bruce. He knew his own eyes weren't directly visible to Joker, but the clown managed to find the direct point of his pupils anyhow. They were even closer than before. Any more and Joker might as well have just climbed on Bruce's lap.

The suspense was unbearable. It was like Bruce was standing in an open area with no protection and a gun pressed to his forehead. The inevitable shot would come eventually, and he would bite the bullet at long last, but waiting for it to hit was so stressful that he might as well have had a heart attack before the gun could do its worst.

"The famous Batman," Joker murmured so quietly that it was almost inaudible. 

Bruce's pulse skyrocketed when he felt a thumb placed over his lips. The rest of the Joker's - shaky, Bruce realised - hand cupped his chin.

"Bats versus Joker," continued the clown, as if monologuing to himself. His eyes wandered around the exposed skin on Batman's face. The hand fell. Their eyes met once more.

"Bruce Wayne."

Bruce shuddered hearing his name come from the Joker's mouth. He struggled to make out words, but when they finally came out he could only whisper one.

"How?"

An amused grin fled across the Joker's expression followed by a giggle. "Darling, you're my favorite enemy. I've known for years."

And just like that, Bruce was shot; dead.

He stared blankly at the Joker for what he assumed was far too long, for the Joker had to smack him over the head to get his attention back again.

"Stay with me, Bats," he ordered with a snap of his fingers. "We have a case to solve and I can't have you checking out on me all the time."

Face falling, Bruce grabbed the hand waving in front of his eyes by the wrist and squeezed hard enough that it could have fractured. 

"Ow, fuck, Bats-"

"Who did you tell?" Bruce snarled, just barely holding back bared teeth.

Joker snapped up from where his arm was being held captive to Bruce's face. He bit out another grin, but it read far darker than the others.

"No one, darling," he hissed. "Now if you would let go of my- _shit_."

Joker clenched his jaw together, nearly biting down on his tongue, and glared up at Batman towering above. Pinned down on the bed by Bruce, Joker let out a gutteral chuckle. He wasn't given a chance to speak before Bruce was applying pressure to his ribs; immediately rendering him silent.

"Don't lie to me, Joker. You have no power here."

"I never-" Joker broke with a grunting laugh. Letting out a breathy giggle, he continued,"I never told anyone, Bats. Pinky promise."

A pinky shot up in the air on his free hand, followed by a sly grin. Bruce only grew angrier. 

"Joker-"

" _Bruce._ "

The use of his name stopped Batman short. He gaped down at the Joker with wide, unblinking eyes. Knowing that he knew didn't make hearing it any better, it seemed.

Joker struggled to choke out a grunt. "Shut your trap, love. It's not becoming."

Doing as told and gulping, Bruce released his hold on the Joker then removed himself from his position. The moment he did he sat back down and grit back a moan. His side shocked currents up and down and his knee stabbed.

"Awe, did poor Bat hurt himself?" Joker taunted bitterly. He folded in on his chest, glaring.

Bruce did the same. They held each other's vengeful stares for a few seconds before turning away all at once. Awkward silence ensued. Both refused to break it.

After a while of sitting and listening to the waterfall from a distance, Bruce decided enough was enough. He pushed himself up and limped - he didn't bother attempting to hide the injury - away from where the room was. All of the way he could feel the Joker's eyes boring holes into his back.

The moment that he was out of the Joker's view, Bruce leaned heavily on the wall. He rubbed his face and closed his eyes with a mind reeling with too many thoughts.

The Joker knew his identity. He had all ready known that, if he were being completely honest. Somewhere in the back of everything he had been aware that Joker had known all of this time. He simply refused to acknowledge it. It was as if the Joker would become some all powerful entity if he knew Batman's face underneath the mask, and even thinking about Joker knowing would make it come true.

If Joker wasn't lying then he at least never told anyone. Bruce wasn't clear as to _why_ he had never told anyone, but that could be asked later.

The past three weeks of searching for the clown had been futile and all due to him having been kidnapped. Held hostage in the one place that was all ready a shit hole, it was no wonder Bruce never thought to take a proper look.

But why hold Joker hostage? To force him to murder the Batman later on? It made sense, if not for the other night. If that were the point of the job then the shooters wouldn't have shown up.

Thinking back to that, none of them had been aiming directly at Batman. Bruce's eyebrows pulled together. The only reason he had been shot was because he had jumped in front of the Joker. All of the bullets flew passed him suspiciously well as he remembered it.

Bruce shook his head. He could ask Joker about it in only a minute. First he had to clear their current situation.

Seconds passed and Bruce hobbled back to the Joker, only this time he was holding... something. A few something's, when Joker truly looked.

Sitting back down with a huff, Bruce held out-

Joker blurted a laugh. Painkillers and water sat in Bruce's open palm. Two for Joker and presumably two for himself. Joker pointed at them.

"They're not poisoned, are they? I would hate to die by the hands of Batman so lamely."

Bruce grunted and continued to hold out his hand. Eventually Joker took them after mumbling something about no harm, no foul, and left the rest for Bruce. The bat swallowed his own, then set the water on the book shelf.

"You know," Joker said, flicking between Batman's mask, "I really never told anyone."

It must have been some inexplicable force of tiredness, pain and frusteration. Never in one million years did he ever think he would let his body relax and slump down in to a chair in front of Joker. But, for some unattainable reason, Bruce believed it.

"Why?" he asked despite himself. It wasn't threatening. Not even slightly.

Joker picked up the tone. He looked rather like a puppy when it heard something it likes. 

"It would be no fun if everyone was out for you, would it?" Joker beamed back. "You're mine, Bats. Not the hungry people of Gotham's."

Bruce didn't even pretend to feel agitated towards the implication that he might have belonged to anyone. He only resigned with a sigh, then looked at the clock.

It was ranging closer to eleven by the minute. He needed to get prepared for the meeting sooner instead of than later. They would have to wait to piece more of their mystery together.

Wordlessly, Bruce pushed himself out of his chair. Only when he turned to walk away did he hear the Joker call out.

"Are we done with the interrogation then?"

Bruce peeked over his shoulder. The Joker was sitting criss cross on the mattress to face him while leaning forward against the railing.

"Don't get your hopes up quite yet," he mumbled. "I'll be back later with more questions."

He climbed in to the elevator, but refused to look in Joker's direction even then. The sound of the giggle sent shocks up his spine like a current. 

"I'll be here."

\----

They had been going over this subject for months.

As he pulled up to the building and struggled his way towards the lift a growing dread formed like a well opening up to swallow him whole.

Bruce Wayne was attempting to start business up with Arkham. He had done it before - many times, in fact - but he was attempting something different this time around. 

Most points he had done a job for Arkham it had been a reputation idea. Pump up publicity for being Gotham's Golden Child, maybe donate a hundred dollars or so to buying new supplies for staff.

None of it worked, he knew. Having entered the shit show that was Arkham Asylum many times under the mask, Bruce was fully aware that getting the doctors a few extra tables wouldn't do shit. 

Which led him to this. Patients constantly broke out of the place without batting an eye, and none of them were even close to being cured of their various illnesses. The management was in ruins, orderlies were sometimes just newly appointed nurses with no clue how to handle criminals, doctors had almost zero licencing and left weekly from fear. Crane himself would have been a better employee that the rest of them. 

It was probably - definitely - one of the worst ideas Bruce had ever had. He was shocked that Alfred hadn't attempted to convince him out of it, but both of them knew it was no good anyhow. Bruce entered the conference room.

"Ah, good morning, Mr. Wayne."

He pushed up his best smile.

Bruce was buying Arkham Asylum.

The board stood to shake his hand as he walked to the front of the table. A few short, meaningless greetings were put together, but none of them truly cared about one another. It just happened to be business.

A few new faces sat with him. Mixed amongst the lawyers and various other people - the Warden being one - sat the smiling faces of other Arkham employees. He had seen them before, in passing. The only reason he recognised them was due to Batman.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he started with a signature Wayne smile. "I see we have some others being brought to the table. It's nice to meet you all."

One stood out among the rest. He had been one of Batman's most recognisable back at the Asylum. It was difficult to hold the uncomfortable shift Bruce felt when seeing the man. Next to him sat a woman of the same stature who he identified easily, though he had never met her in person.

"Doctor Octavian Augustus," introduced the man. "Head surgeon."

He extended one boney hand to shake. Though his mind flashed with images of the same doctor carrying a bleeding Joker at his side, Bruce took it with stride, but turned quickly in favor of the woman. Any longer of staring at Augustus he would vomit.

Bruce flashed another grin. Inside, his chest strained from the effort it took to keep up the persona. It seemed that wherever he looked it was a lose.

"And you might be...?" he pursued gently.

The woman huffed and shook his hand. "Doctor Sasha Delphian. Pleasure to me you, Mr. Wayne."

Sitting back down, Bruce shook his hands. "The pleasure is all mine. And, please..." He paused, beamed smoothly, then added,"It's Bruce."

He turned away before he could see her initial reaction. No one commented on their interaction, all ready far too used to Bruce Wayne's playboy ideals. Each of them looked up from their paperwork as though only then recognising that the meeting was to begin.

Bruce raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "So? What is this about? I thought that we had come to the conclusion that all paperwork would come to my office, and-"

"Yes, yes, we _had._ " 

Turning to the lawyer - Donald Pyke was his name. Two kids, the girl in financing and the boy still in highschool. Divorced two years - Bruce tilted his head as an invitation to proceed.

Pyke set down his pen and turned to better face Bruce. "New... ideas- have arisen on the thought of your ability to handle a decision as big as this."

For one blissful second, Bruce had actually forgotten about the other problems he had.

He must have looked like a fool sitting there with an expression only saved for when Joker told a terrible joke, but Bruce could have given less of a damn whether he questioned what Pyke meant. If any of them had an injured psychotic clown on their hands then they would be confused as well.

"Are you implying that I'm not able to handle business?" he finally asked. 

Based off of the looks the board gave each other it must have taken him too long to reply. No one brought it up. Up until Delphian.

"Mr. Wayne," she said. He caught her eye, and it must have been a bit too strong, for she squinted. "Bruce, are you feeling all right?"

"Of course, Doctor," he answered, though he refused to admit that his heart was racing fast enough that he was feeling a bit dizzy.

Once again clearing his throat, Pyke made his presence clear in the room. Bruce turned his attention once more.

"You see, the incident the other day rattled all of Gotham."

Bruce licked his lips. The case, the murder, _Bruce Wayne Gone Insane?_ , all of it was clambering together like one big magnet was forcing him towards another one. The only problem was that the two sides were opposites, and the further he tried to connect the harder it pulled apart his brain.

"Donald," Bruce spoke, all too glad that his voice didn't come out as forced as he felt,"I'm fully aware of what has happened. I can assure you that the GCPD has it under control, and that I can handle anything that has happened."

The fact that every other person in the room turned to look at their desk instead of Bruce set a dagger straight to his chest. Pyke crossed his legs and locked his hands together.

"That's not what we're concerned about, Mr. Wayne," he admitted. 

Somehow the monotone of his voice still kept a brutality to it that had Bruce reeling. He frowned.

"If you're implying that I murdered Albert Cunningham-"

"Actually," interjected a familiar rasp. "That's exactly what he is implying, Bruce."

Octavian Augustus met Bruce's gaze. Rather suddenly Bruce felt like he was being pushed down a long hallway and being cornered by armed thugs. He gulped. Underneath the table he massaged his knee.

Many times could be counted for Batman carrying in a bloodied Joker on his back. The first on the scene was almost always Augustus. Despite knowing that Joker was a dangerous criminal, he had always taken the utmost care to aiding him with Batman's help. He was a good man. A wonderful doctor. Yet there he was, opposing Bruce's ideas.

"I'm sorry," Bruce managed finally. He shook flashes of Joker spitting blood over the Batmobile's dashboard away. "What, exactly, is your purpose for attending today?"

"Er," Pyke spoke up. Both persons looked to him. "Doctors Augustus and Delphian have come on behalf of the Arkham employees to express their concern."

"Precisely."

Bruce whipped back around to find himself in a stare off with Augustus. Delphian cleared her throat.

"Up until the case has been solved, and all publicity has gone down, we think it best for all of your business to wait," she expressed with clear patience. It made sense, Bruce supposed. She was one of their leading psychiatrists. 

She continued before he could get in a word.

"Patients would not be happy with the press flooding their cell block in order to ask them if their new management under a murd- Er, it could stunt their recovery, is what I'm trying to say."

It was a bullshit reason. Bruce was no idiot, and this certainly wasn't his first time in the field. Besides, he had caught what she was going to say. Everyone else had too.

"With everything else going on in Gotham right now," Octavian input,"our inmates are not all too happy as is. More and more are injuring themselves. If new management went in to effect we would have chaos on our hands."

"So... What does this mean?" Bruce asked, though he all ready knew precisely what it meant.

Pyke frowned. Another woman sighed. Bruce didn't know her personally, but she had been present through the other meetings.

"Mr. Wayne, due to risks with the court and asylum inmates, your transactions and requests will be denied for the time being."

The finality in her voice made him sick.

Whether or not if it was his Wayne side tsking over, Bruce felt a great need to storm out of the conference room and right back home. He could hear his blood pounding through his skull and pressing deep into his temples.

"Do I even have a say in this?" he pushed out. 

Pyke looked down at the rest of the board. Each of them closed their record books and made contact with Bruce. Twice in one day he felt far more helpless by stare downs than he ever had.

"The decision has been made, Mr. Wayne," Pyke informed. "Until the investigation is over with, our business will be postponed. The health of the Arkham patients made it final."

Bruce closed his eyes when he heard the sound of the people at the table packing up. The headache pulsing behind his eyes was transforming it to a migraine. Pyke clapped a hand down on his shoulder. When he looked he found himself under the pitiful gaze of the old lawyer.

"We'll get there eventually," he assured. "But for now, I really had no choice. I do hope you don't take this too hardly."

Bruce pursed his lips. He stood and smiled while he collected his few items.

"Don't worry about it, Donald. It wasn't your fault."

Coming from the mouth of Bruce Wayne, such a nice phrase seemed to surprise Pyke just slightly. He smiled back nonetheless.

"I'll see you later, Wayne. Call if you need any assistance with... everything."

They made their way out of the main hallway, but soon seperated. Bruce clung on to the thought of calling Donald for later on. Whoever was making this mess for him might get an upper hand. A trustworthy lawyer might be needed at some point.

The ding of the elevator indicated for him to enter. Bruce stepped in through the crowd exiting, then quickly chose a floor. As the doors were sliding shut, a hand shot through to push them open once again. Bruce attempted not to look at them, but was soon recognised despite the fact that he was trying to melt into the walls.

"Ah, Mr. W- Bruce," voiced Delphian. "Seems we're all heading for the main floor, hm?" 

Behind her followed a silent Octavian Augustus. They squished in awkwardly. The area seemed to shrink the moment they entered.

The doors took forever to close. Bruce could feel sweat beginning to form on his forehead. On the rare occasion that he became nervous, why did then have to be one?

"I do hope you understand that this was not done out of spite," Augustus muttered out of the blue. Their eyes met instantly.

"What?" 

Octavian sighed and scratched at his forehead. He looked at the floor counter. Bruce noticed he appeared more anxious than Bruce could have ever thought to be.

"I- New management is something we have been hoping for for a very long time, Wayne. Myself included. The timing is just..."

"Shit," Delphian finished.

All three chuckled lightly at that statement. The elevator lurched and the doors slid open. Bruce and the doctors scrambled out like a pack of terrified prey who were being chased by their predator. Before Bruce could turn towards his car, however, a couple of unusually strong fingers gripped his forearm.

Bruce hesitated in his step to eye Octavian. Quickly the hand dropped. 

"For the record, I don't think you're a murderer, Mr. Wayne. This is for the patients well-being. That's all."

A flash of relief struck through Bruce in that moment, and he found that all he wanted to do was lie down and cry. Or maybe hug Octavian. 

Neither option seemed like a reasonable action, so Bruce settled with a gentle smile. "Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate that."

Octavian smirked shyly. His sunken cheeks made the action almost eerie, but Bruce didn't care that much. Not another word was said when Octavian turn to follow Delphian.

After a few minutes of standing there, Bruce realized that he was receiving a few odd glances. He ran in to another man on the way around, who dropped his paper in surprise. Bruce grimaced. He had to stop doing that.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized quickly, then bent down to pick up the newspaper.

He should have been expecting the article. He _had_ been, at some point. Yet the rushing cold that flooded through him when he flipped the news to see a writing on the previous night still managed to send him spinning.

"Don't worry about it, man," the stranger shrugged. He shook his head and scoffed when he saw what Bruce was looking at. "Can you believe it? My ma always said the 'ol Bat would go rogue eventually, but I never believed her. Crazy."

Bruce flicked over to the man, who held out his hand expectantly. The initial shock swept away, but the aftereffects left Bruce seeing spots.

"Oh," he mumbled. He handed the man his paper back, added some cash without thinking, then nodded. "Sorry. Again."

Looking down at the hundred in his palm, the man looked back at Bruce stalking off towards his car. He might have yelled something. Bruce didn't hear.

He set the car on autopilot towards the route home. Everything that had happened in the passed hour was too much of a whirlwind for him to drive without crashing.

**Batman Saves Joker...Then Runs From Police? Gotham's Vigilante Finally Gone Bad**

On any other day Bruce wouldn't let himself think about it. Batman suffers from people accusing him of villainy on a daily. In fact, if he didn't hear someone yelling Fuck Batman on the streets one day, Bruce would probably be concerned.

The painkillers weren't doing their work, he thought. His head ached, and his knee was killing him. Questions continued to flood his eyesight, and the fact that he had just lost his Arkham deals was still a fresh squeeze of lemon over the rest of the wounds.

The sound of the car pulling to a stop signaled Bruce's arrival back home. He must have been more out of it than he had thought if he hadn't realised how long the ride has taken.

Bruce clambered out of the vehicle. The familiar squeak of bats above him and the faint rush of water calmed his nerves immeasurably. He took a deep breath of the damp cave air. Tension left his muscles instantly.

He limped across the cave without much thought. His hand snaked up to loosen his tie and throw it across the room, and the jacket came not far behind.

"Computer," he called,"tell Alfred I won't be going to work today. And ask for tea."

Bruce pulled out a brace and sweatpants from the med bay before dragging his way back to a seat up front. After unbuttoning a few of his shirt buttons, Bruce started off his with belt.

Only to stop completely.

"Fuck," he whispered, closing his eyes tight. 

Bruce raised a hand up to his forehead and covered it. Of course he had let himself forget. The biggest problem he had and he had somehow _forgotten._

"Do continue, Bats. I was enjoying the show."

His shoulders tightened with a cramp the moment he heard the voice. And not far away, either. He must have entered the main cave when he heard the car. 

Bruce swung around to scold the Joker, but stopped before anything could come out. He was closer than expected. Close enough that Bruce could easily reach out and grab him.

That wasn't what stopped him though. It was only when he turned did he realise that he was not wearing any armour, and that the Joker knew, and that he was also witnessing the full sight of Bruce Wayne instead of Batman.

Then, making a short circuit to Bruce's lungs, he saw that the Joker had taken a shower. Alfred must have also brought down clean clothes because the clown was dressed in a fresh shirt and sweat pants. 

And he had no makeup on him.

Though still pale as ever, Bruce could make out each scratch and bruise on Joker's skin. His cheekbones weren't as sunken in as portrayed, though he did appear lankier. No doubt the whole being held hostage situation had something to do with that. The lips were the most different. Instead of that ridiculous red that was painted on passed the normal length of the mouth, a faint pink of normalcy gaped back at Bruce.

_Wait._

_Shit._

Bruce met Joker's eyes - greener without the rest to take away from, he noted - with his own wide ones. They both took a step back without thinking much about it.

"You- ahem..." Joker cleared his throat. "You forgot your cowl, Bats."

Stunned to silence, Bruce leaned back against the computer. He refused to look away from the naked face of the Joker. It was like if he turned away then the makeup would be right back on in the next second and he would never witness it again.

For the first time ever, Bruce and the Joker saw each other.


	6. An Angry Bat Is A Rude Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Wayne isn't the best with admitting much of anything, it seems. But it's not as though Joker is either.
> 
> Also known as Alfred is tired of everyone's antics. What's new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, a few more seem to have come to join! In our very own Joker-esque fashion, I welcome you to the party!! (:
> 
> I'm so so glad to see you're all enjoying this. I honestly hadn't expected this much of a turnout but I'm very hyped for all of your feedback!! Please keep it coming, it really does brighten my day seeing you all
> 
> Side note (read at your own risk): You know that one part in a book where it's important to the story but you also really don't like reading it because it's kind of boring? Yeah. What I'm saying is that this chapter is not - in my opinion, of course - the best chapter I've written in my life, but I hope you can all enjoy it anyway. The next part will be wayy better, I guarantee.
> 
> Anyway, thanks again, and happy reading!

Deep within the cave, water dropped downwards.

Bruce was used to the noise. He often sat and listened to it when he was exhausted from work, and the thought of moving was too much. By that point it had become soothing. Lain in bed with wounds bad enough that he couldn't get up, he heard the drip of the water and the squeak of bats until at last he would fall into the sweet abyss of sleep.

He attempted to tune in to the steady hum of the waterfall. With his heart racing and his mind on overload, Bruce needed something to calm himself down to Earth.

Except he couldn't quite hear it. He knew it was there, somewhere, but it was more distant than usual. In place of it was the blood rushing in his ears like some cruel replacement. 

And the breathing.

The soft, uneven breaths from Joker echoed in his head like a drum beat against the headache. It mixed in with Bruce's own while they stood in the silent shock of the room.

Neither dared to break the tension holding them glued to the cave's cold floor. Not even a gust of air swooped through to interrupt their thoughts. Only the constant squeak of bats and their beating pulses flowed throughout their space. If not talking in the car had been uncomfortable, then Bruce didn't know what to call this.

Joker had scars. They were faint, barely there, but they were on his neck and down his collar bone and supposedly on his chest. Without the suit to cover him they could all be seen, plain and open in Bruce's sight. 

Some of them he had inflicted. He remembered from long ago shoving him into a building and watching as metal sliced open his back. The choking laugh around a pained cry haunted his thoughts some days.

It was then that Bruce realised he was standing not only with his face revealed, but with his shirt unbuttoned to show all of his own old battle wounds.

Joker must have taken note of Bruce staring at his, for those green eyes flicked down to Bruce's chest. He swallowed harshly and blinked back something unidentifiable.

The expression threw Bruce off. His eyebrows pulled together and he looked down as well. The initial shake of taking his gaze off of Joker didn't last long. 

The bandages on the fresh gunshot wound stared back at them both. A speck of old blood could be seen peeking through the white, and his skin pulled around the taped areas. 

Turning up to speak, Bruce took note of Joker's posture. Everything about the clown looked uneasy. Both of them were in fight or flight mode.

"Joker," he started. 

Bruce gulped when he realised his voice wasn't modulated to the deep growl. Joker heard it too, and his eyes flashed up to meet Bruce's. Whatever he had been going to say vanished.

"Never mind," he drawled.

"Hm," grunted Joker. His gaze lidded over to the object being held in Bruce's hand. A curious brow raised.

Holding up the brace, Bruce sniffed. "Sprained my knee," he explained shortly.

Joker coughed a laugh out. "It won't do do much if it isn't on, Bats."

They both shared a look at the common nickname between the two. Bruce hadn't thought much on what would happen if this were to occur. Was Joker supposed to proceed with calling him Batman? If they saw each other on the streets without a mask on - it had happened before, but Bruce had ignored him the same as any other citizen, obviously - were they to acknowledge one another? It would be impossible to simply pretend they didn't know. 

Bruce forced himself not to over think the situation. There were more important problems at hand. None of those other ones would ever have to be answered if the current ones weren't dealt with.

"I have more questions for you," he pushed through in an attempt to hint back at their original task.

Joker snapped up with a grin. Although both of them were still a bit shaken, the clown still found it within himself to take a dramatic bow and point towards the bedroom cavern.

"Lead the way, darling," Joker purred.

Bruce felt that stone cold weight of annoyance pluck at him the moment Joker spoke. Still, he had to push down the urge to chuckle at the antics. He replaced it with a snarl.

One unsteady step had Bruce grunting out a soft swear. He pressed his palm to his knee as though that would relieve the aching pressure, but the action only added a sharp stab to his gunshot.

He froze when he felt a lanky hand pressed to his shoulder blades. The coolness of it pooled through Bruce's shirt the moment it made contact. He looked up to see Joker smirking down at him.

"Need a hand, my dear?" he asked, then chuckled and held out his free one.

Bruce's entire body clenched up and spasmed under the Joker's touch. He had felt that same palm in that same spot many times before, but it tended to be followed by knuckles directly to his nose or a knee on his jugular. 

Seeing the - seemingly - genuine help before Bruce was quite understandably a shock. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to uppercut Joker across the room and refuse his assistance. That wouldn't get them anywhere, though. The set back would be immeasurable, too, knowing how petty Joker could be.

Bruce slapped his own hand on to the Joker's and steadied himself with a small hop on his good leg. The injury must have been worse than he had first assumed.

"I'm fine," he said once he was able to stand tall.

Joker let out a laugh that sounded far too disbelieving for Bruce. Despite it, the hands dropped, and he continued to walk towards the room. In fact, he skipped backwards to it as if to mock Bruce. 

"Come on then, Batsy. It's not like I have all day. Well, actually-"

"Shut up," Bruce barked lowly.

He shuffled over to the room and lowered himself to sit across from the Joker. While glowering at the grinning man, Bruce strapped on the knee brace. Across from him the Joker watched.

"Does this mean we're interrogating once again? Or are we going to actually crack this mystery open?" 

The sass of his tone made Bruce scowl. Joker eyed the expression with silent interest. 

"Have you ever heard of the names Marcus Willis or Miles Falkner?"

Joker hummed through a growing beam. "Interrogation, then."

"Just answer the question, Joker," Bruce snapped.

This time the Joker stopped. His smile twitched and his gaze hitched over Bruce's face. Something flashed across the clown's expression, but it disappeared before Bruce could pinpoint what it was.

"Can't say I do, detective," he answered simply. 

Bruce grunted. Frusteration ebbed in to the corners of his vision, and he found that he couldn't help but massage his temples. How was it that pain killers couldn't stop the persistent headache he kept feeling?

"Do you know anything at all about who took you?" he grunted out.

"Nope," Joker popped.

Bruce groaned and rubbed his eyes with enough force that he might as well have started crying from how watery they became. 

"This is getting us no where," he muttered. 

Numbness filtered in through his brain and spread through his body. Bruce thought back to his bed back upstairs. The pillow was probably still fluffed. With any luck Alfred had cleaned the sheets so that they would have that sweet smell of freshly washed bedding.

"Those men; Marcus and Miles. Who are they?"

Bruce, stricken by the question, hesitated to answer. He hadn't really thought about how this was to be a two way investigation. Joker was just as much involved in it, if not more. He had every right to know these small facts of the case.

Except, he was the Joker. Clown Prince of Crime, he was not trust worthy in any way. Not yet, at the very least. Hell, he could be behind all of the problems. He had always been a fantastic actor.

Bruce lifted his head to find Joker lying on his back and his arm held in the air. The look of fascination on his face was almost funny.

There was no way he could tell Joker yet. More information was needed. With a drawn out movement to sit himself back up, Bruce proceeded.

"Mabel Sacarello. Have you heard of her?"

He caught the fury on Joker in an instant. The smile turned down to a pained looking frown, and his eyebrows fell down to shadow his face. A strand of hair went over his eyes.

Bruce noted that Joker had messy hair. It had always been like that, yes, but that was intentional. This was a mop of light curls that stuck in all directions and swooped in random ways. Without products it was almost nice. In the same way as he looked without makeup, it made him appear... Human.

"Don't trust me, Bats?" Joker asked, but the cold tone added to it made Bruce shiver.

"If you answer my questions," Bruce levelled with Joker,"then I'll answer your's. Understand?"

If the pinched frusteration on Joker's face made Bruce unconvinced, then the tapping on the bed sheets did not help. Despite this, Joker sunk in on himself.

"Never heard of her," he mumbled at long last. "I never saw much of anyone."

Bruce licked his lips in puzzlement. Joker shifted from side to side and shook his head. A deep, gutteral chuckle escaped him. Unlike any of his other ones, this one came off as something Bruce had never heard.

Joker sounded upset. Genuinely upset, as though whatever happened in there got on his nerves in a way that made his fingers curl into the sheets and his smile to twitch.

Bruce pushed down the initial surprise of the fact that Joker could even have such an emotion to replace it was a steeled, unremorseful glare. He found it to be considerably harder without the protection of the suit.

"Like I said, darling. I didn't know where I was up until yesterday. All I knew was the smell of vomit, piss, and latex gloves."

The dulled green eyes that met Bruce's sent him right back to that undeniable surprise and something akin to sympathy.

"That answer your questions well enough, Wayne?"

And suddenly, it was Bruce's turn to growl.

"Don't," he spat,"call me Wayne."

At first, Joker wanted to giggle. That same laugh factor that he had always felt burst up in his chest and almost ached in his diaphragm from holding back while he awaited the right moment to taunt the Batman.

Then it struck him as though someone had shown up and they were pounding his skull into the sidewalk. 

He could say, on a personal level, that it was not a fun experience.

The need to laugh deflated with a deep swallow that felt far too much like he was choking.

"Your father-"

"Thomas Wayne," Bruce finished. They locked. "Everyone called him Wayne."

Scrutinising glances fell on one another over the course of the next five minutes. Each milled over the information they had just gained about the other with growing dread forming inside of them. 

Joker chuckled, though it was weak. "What an eventful two days it has been, hm?"

Their thoughts were interrupted by the noise of metal grating. Both Bruce and the Joker turned in the direction of the noise to stare at the man advancing towards them.

In an instant Bruce was was up and limping forward to meet Alfred. His face fell in to a tense frown.

"You're not supposed to be down here," he hissed.

Alfred set down the tray of tea he held in his hands. He looked Bruce up and down with an eyebrow arched. He then slid over to where Joker stood behind Bruce. Bruce blocked them.

"Al," he protested. "Joker is dangerous. You could be hurt."

Alfred hummed in acknowledgment of Bruce's words. A hand was placed on Bruce's arm, and their gazes connected once more. Alfred remained steely. The strike that went through Bruce nearly sent him tumbling down, but he settled for a resigned sigh. He nodded, then stepped back.

"Hm," huffed Alfred. He picked up the tea tray and carried it over to the Joker, who watched him with amusement on his face.

"I knew you were rich, Bats," Joker teased,"but I hadn't expected a butler."

A malicious grin spread across Joker's face the moment that Alfred approached him with the drinks. Joker took the tea, and Alfred set the tray down.

Bruce's insides twisted uncomfortably. He had seen that smile many times in his life, and each time had led to something he did not like. He let out a deep, rattling exhale and reminded himself that Alfred was capable of taking care of himself. Still, anxiety continued to eat at him.

"It appears you two have finally gotten properly introduced," Alfred spoke while looking between them.

A look was shared between Bruce and the Joker then. Little hairs on the back of Bruce's neck stood on end at the long lashes and clear complexion faced towards him. From appearances of the hunched shoulders, Joker had had the same reaction to Bruce.

Even in Arkham he had had smudges of cover up. Whether it be eyeliner and mascara or lipstick and blush, Joker wore make up. His hair was always styled in some sort of way and his clothes were either suits or his inmate clothing that both screamed eye straining colors. Standing there in a random band t- shirt and sweatpants, the Joker might as well have been naked to Bruce.

He could only imagine what it must have felt like for Joker seeing him back.

"Yeah," Bruce spoke, finally breaking their stare off. Addressing Alfred, he swallowed. "Has something happened?"

Alfred rolled his shoulders back and pulled on his lapels. "The bat signal has been lit, sir."

That same draining feeling ebbed at Bruce the moment that was said. He had gotten so distracted that he had missed the alarm all together. Joker must have too, seeing as it was never pointed out.

Bruce checked the time. There was no way he had been back for that long. Half an hour at the most. The meeting had ended near one o'clock and he had arrived around two, which could only mean-

"It's 2:30," he voiced. 

Joker and Alfred each looked at the clock as though checking for confirmation of this assumption. Once satisfied, the triangle looked at eachother in deep confusion.

"No one ever calls me in the daylight," Bruce continued and stalked over to the computer. 

Movement by his side indicated the arrival of Alfred watching him work. To his loathing, Joker took the opposite side.

"So this is how you track everything," Joker commented. 

He leaned forward on the keyboard, but Bruce swatted him away. Offense washed over Joker, but one swift glare shut him up.

A click later and cameras of the city popped up along nearly every street corner. The three men's faces lit up from the colors portrayed towards them, but none even blinked.

Bruce swiped left and pressed on a particular button. The screen zoomed in on the GCPD location rooftop where the light shone brightly towards the sky. Standing on the rooftop was Gordon, a cigarette pulled to his lips and smoke rising up in tune with the cold winter air.

"He must have something important if he couldn't wait until later on," Alfred pointed out.

Bruce huffed as a reply. He hitched himself upwards with narrowed eyes.

"He reads the newspapers," recalled Bruce. "He must have seen last night's headline."

Next to them, Joker made a soft noise. Both Bruce and Alfred flinched at the disruption. Neither were used to anyone else interfering with their investigations, let alone being inside of the cave with them.

Bruce turned to face Joker's profile. "What?" he snarled.

Joker took a moment to eye the way Gordon walked back and forth in quiet anticipation. He ruffled his own curls with a shrug, then turned to Bruce. A broad smile crossed him.

"Nothing," Joker reflected. 

Bruce wanted to point out the bold faced lie because _There is obviously something, Joker, now tell me what the hell-_

"What headlines?" Joker mused before Bruce could even utter his thoughts. Then, a scoff came. "My apologies. I forgot that I'm not allowed to know. _My bad_."

The bitterness in his tone made Bruce's skin prickle. He looked away from Joker before those green eyes could do any damage. Instead he shared a silent thought with the other man by his side. Swooping towards Alfred, Bruce walked down from the computer platform and away from the Joker's hearing range.

Just as he had expected, Alfred had followed him. A look of flat question remained on his expression while he watched Bruce pace unsteadily.

"May I ask your reasoning for not telling him anything?" asked Alfred.

Bruce rubbed his eyes and stopped. The hand dragged up to run through his hair. It instantly messed up the locks.

"He could be behind all of this still," Bruce pointed out. "He usually is. You know that. He's the Joker, for fuck's sake."

Alfred nodded. "I agree. However, sir, if you really think he is behind this than you would not have brought him here."

"Well that's the problem, isn't it?" Bruce spat under his breath. He drudged over to the wall and walked along it, tapping the cool metal steadily while he voiced his thoughts. "Why _did_ I bring him here? Why, of all of God damn options I have, did I bring him here? Hm?"

Alfred stepped forward once, then suggested in his most calm voice,"Sir, I think it would be best if you took a deep breath, and-"

"No, Alfred, I will not take a deep breath, because I'm risking everything for some murderous _fucking clown_!" 

The sound of Bruce's fist connecting with the metal echoed off of the cave's walls. The moment he realised he had done it, he too a step back. Eyes wide on the sight of Alfred also stepping back, Bruce cradled his hand weakly.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It's all right, sir," Alfred interrupted. "You're under a lot of stress as of the last few days. Besides," he added quickly,"I must agree, for the most part."

Shifting, Bruce flexed his bleeding knuckles. He refused to look Alfred in the eye. "You think I'm right by not telling him anything?"

"I never said that now, did I?"

Droning out a groan to himself, Bruce began pacing again. He could sense Alfred's disapproving glare towards the injured knee, but Bruce didn't stop. He ran a hand through his hair, then stopped when it stung his wounded hand.

"What should I do then?" he faltered. "He's the Joker. Everything could go wrong if I tell him this, Al."

"Have you considered that it could also go far more smoothly if you do?" Alfred pointed out in fast return.

Doing a quick turn, Bruce tilted his head to see the slightest angle to witness the Joker sitting up by the computer. Based off of the flashes of color he got, the clown was moving around. 

_Hopefully not messing with anything,_ Bruce thought to himself.

"I know you most likely won't listen to me-" Bruce didn't miss the muttered _You never do_ \- "but I do suggest you tell him. As much as I loathe the retched clown, he could be a useful ally for your problem."

Bruce dropped the walking to stare down at the floor. He placed his hands on his hips and stood while Alfred witnessed it all. At last, he hobbled back up without a word. Behind him, Alfred huffed.

He ignored the Joker all together. There were no signs as to the technology having been damaged, so he decided it was safe to leave it be for the time being. Alfred could take care of it.

But Joker just couldn't leave Bruce alone, could he?

"Going out to see Old Jimbo Gordon?" prodded Joker from not far behind him.

Bruce didn't pause in heading to the armoury. The Joker's chain must have cut off if the loud metal clang and grunt were any indication. If Bruce smirked then Joker didn't notice it.

"You can't ignore me forever, darling!" sing songed Joker. 

Having already placed on his freshly cleaned suit, Bruce felt far more comfortable walking out in front of Joker than he had in the past hour. With the aid of the kevlar he didn't even appear to have a limp. 

When Bruce exited the room with his cowl being raised up to click in place and racing right passed the Joker, he went to the Batmobile. 

Fuck the Joker if he ever figured out its actual name.

Before either of them could even look at one another, Batman was gone.

Standing alone in the middle of the cave, Joker stared blankly in the spot where Batman had just been. He reached up and tugged at his hair, looked down at his attire, and shuddered.

"Would it kill him to buy anything colourful for once?"

He made his way back to the room made up for him. Batman hadn't noticed, obviously, but Joker had made a few adjustments to the place.

An old newspaper had been left behind at some point, as well as a piece of old tape on the wall. Having seen an opportunity, Joker had torn out an image of the old Bat soaring across the building tops and stuck it right next to his bed. Really, Joker had to congratulate himself. It was truly a work of art; genius.

That, and the makeshift shiv. But he wasn't going to bring that up.

Joker pulled at the cuff connected to his wrist so that it would have some length left to it, then proceeded to flop back on to the mattress. He had to give it to Batman, the whole Triplebillionaire - not a word, he knew, but it made him giggle - thing got some quality beds. Even without the sheets. Much better than Arkham, at the least.

The thought that he was lying in Bruce Wayne's Secret Hideout hit harder than Joker would have liked to admit.

He was no idiot. The instant he had gotten eyes for the Batman he had done his research. It wasn't easy, there was no denying that. Batman was a fantastic coverup for his face behind the pointy ears. In fact, there hadn't been a trace leading Joker to believe Bats was Bruce Wayne at all.

It was an accident. Honest to whatever God was listening, Joker would swear on the Bat's grave itself that it was an accident.

He never cared about knowing who Batman is. Batman was _Batman_. The Caped Crusader, Gotham's Vigilante, The Dark Knight himself, any of those names could go fuck themselves.

All he had ever been in Joker's eyes was _Bats_ , the destiny-intertwined-fate whatever the hell anyone likes to call man who made Joker who he is. Whoever was under the mask would always be _Bats_. Even with that knowledge, the Joker had held that particular card close to his chest.

Up until today, that was.

He had blue eyes. Seeing as Bruce Wayne was plastered like some sort of God all over Gotham's billboards it wasn't as though Joker hadn't been aware of that fact. He had gotten close enough to the mask enough times that it was easy to tell the color underneath the white cloth as well.

Somehow seeing it all still felt different.

Despite all of the grand schemes and the wild adventures he threw, Joker was absolutely terrible with changing. He could create new moves as easily as blinking, switch course in his plans with a snap of his fingers and a twirl for effect, but completely shifting the show all together was a game changer he would never be great at.

Unfortunately for him, this was the biggest change he had had in a long while. Fun as it was, Joker's mind reeled at the whole fiasco.

"Ahem," interrupted a new voice.

Joker twisted around to look upside down at the same butler from earlier. The unamused expression on his face spoke levels.

"Would you kindly move off of the bed?" continued the butler.

Joker blinked at him for a moment as though attempting to process the words before rolling over and clambering off. He stood tall, but remained hunched. Every movement the butler made Joker watched with precision.

"You wouldn't happen to have any other clothes here, would you?" Joker asked while the butler placed fresh sheets on the bed. "Homeless Gothamite isn't exactly my style."

He chuckled at himself, but the butler did not seem impressed. Instead, he hummed lowly, then turned quickly to look directly in Joker's eyes. Somehow it felt more scrutinising than anything Joker had ever felt, and he didn't even know the guy.

"Your injuries call for something less restricting. You'll have to deal with the, er- what was it you called it?" He paused, then smiled, but the venomous intent behind it was strong. "Ah, yes. _Homeless Gothamite_ look."

Joker felt more than forced himself to smile. His nose twitched in a show of his frusteration. "I've had worse injuries than this. Ask Bats."

To Joker's utter disappointment, the butler was not phased at all by these words. Not even an inkling of hearing what was said was indicated.

Turning his back, the butler walked off a little bit. Joker didn't bother to watch what he was doing, but he could sense that he was close by.

"Master Bruce," he started out of the blue,"has this insane ideal that if he dresses up like a bat to fight murderous imbeciles in the night-" 

He paused to let the delicate insult sink in. Joker bristled. How was it that this damn butler had more bite than Bats ever did?

"-that he won't have to kill anyone."

At last, the butler came back around into the room, but this time he was holding something else. Joker ignored it in order to look at the man.

"If you're going to go on some speech telling me not to abuse my position of power here and corrupt Bats, then save it, old man" he leered. "Your precious golden boy can handle himself."

Pressing his lips together, the butler twiddled the needle between his fingers. At last, Joker took a look at it, but didn't ask about it. He was certain he would be told soon enough.

"Let it be known," stated the butler with such a calmness that made Joker's hairs stand on end,"that if you take one wrong step that I do not share the same ideals as my employer."

Thin eyebrows raised up. Butler indicated politely to the bed. "If you would please take a seat."

For some reason, the Joker felt obligated to.

The moment he sat the butler was taking his arm. With Joker's palm raised up, he rolled up his own sleeves as precaution, then held up the empty syringe. In an instant Joker pulled his arm back to his body, and his other fist was lifted in defense.

"Afraid of needles, are we?" jabbed the butler with an amused smirk.

Joker had only known the man for fifteen minutes and he was all ready cocky enough to think he could stand up to him like that. No wonder Bats was so damn stubborn.

Not wanting to get into a petty argument, Joker stuck his arm out again. The butler smiled to show his approval. A band was wrapped around Joker's bicep, though his veins were incredibly easy to see without.

If Joker twitched when the needle first touched him, neither brought it up.

"You know," Joker cooed while they both watched his blood fill up the glass,"it's rather rude to threaten someone without telling them your name."

The needle was taken out. Nimble fingers removed the rubber then placed a bandaid over the small poke.

"Seeing as you know the identity of Batman, I figured you knew."

He removed the vial from the rest of the syringe then placed it delicately in his vest. Sharp eyes met Joker's own.

"Pennyworth," he introduced. "Alfred Pennyworth."

Joker leaned back against the wall and slapped the mattress. He stared at Alfred blankly.

"Well, _Pennyworth_ , is there any particular reason as to why you took my blood? I've been told I'm running on a low supply already, so it better be a good reason."

Joker laughed at himself, but, yet again, Pennyworth gave no indication of having heard it. A frown struck Joker. He kept his mouth shut.

"When you were unconscious you had a strange reaction to one of the drugs I administered," Pennyworth informed. "I'm going to run a few tests to see why. Though it would be nice to know if you might have any allergies?"

Joker hitched up his shoulders in a long, exaggerated shrug. "No clue."

Pennyworth tilted up his chin and rolled his sleeves down. He humphed and clasped his hands behind his back. Although there was a hint of annoyance in his expression, he proceeded to look Joker up and down.

"If there is anything you need," he sighed,"call out."

"Why offer help? You're clearly not on board the clown and bat team up train. Said it yourself." He leaned forward. "You could just let me die."

Pennyworth's cheek pulled, and he glowered. "This is for Master Bruce's sake, clown. If he changes his mind about any of this, I advise you to leave while you can."

Joker's smile spread. He kicked his feet off of the edge of the bed. "Loving the insults here. Makes me feel incredibly welcome."

Pennyworth didn't even bother to reply. He left Joker sitting in his cold, temporary residence, alone.

Once the crunch of the lift could be heard in the distance, Joker flopped back down. His hand ran absently through his hair. Then, he exhaled a soft laugh. 

It wasn't genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: A series of events play out to lead up in the case…


	7. Ice Ice Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker is annoying, Bruce is done with life, and Gordon just wants to solve the damn case already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse my foul language but holy shit I am so fucking sorry oh my god ahhhHHH-
> 
> Anyway
> 
> I took a very long time to post this and I am SO so sorry please forgive me
> 
> This chapter was going to be extremely long but I figured hey, I haven't posted a chapter in a month in a half so I just cut it in half and am now handing it to you all as a possible peace offering.
> 
> I didn't read this for mistakes so if you find a random sentence that doesn't make any sense just.. pretend you never saw it I guess
> 
> To anyone who comes back to this after the break and still enjoys it hi!! I love you
> 
> ~~(Happy covid-19 month I hope this keeps you busy in quarantine)~~
> 
> Your local Clown Cowboy, Greyson

Just as he had been on the cameras, Gordon was waiting on the rooftop.

Batman used his grapel to soar down behind Gordon. He crouched down low next to a pipe to keep himself hidden in the shade. For a moment he only sat and watched the smoke go up into the air. 

"You know," Gordon said, admittedly startling Batman,"I said I was going to quit. Tch."

The cigarette dropped and Gordon stamped it out with the tip of his shoe. Both hands were shoved deep within his pockets. Shoulders hunched, Gordon casually turned and sat on the pipe a few away from Batman's position. To any onlookers, he would appear as though he were just taking a break. 

Once again, Batman had to smirk. Gordon never slipped up.

"You're probably wondering why I called you here so early in the day, huh?" he continued.

Batman shifted so that he could see Gordon better without revealing his own position. "I'm assuming this is about the other night; the news."

To his surprise, Gordon huffed. "No, actually. I know you must have your reasons for whatever that was. Especially after the past few weeks of Joker being missing."

"Then what is this about, Jim?" Batman proceeded. 

He felt a bit of comfort in knowing that Gordon trusted him that much, but couldn't reveal that. Not yet, at least.

Gordon sighed. The sound of gravel crunching while he swung his body around to give a sharp glance towards the Batman lasted only a second.

"Two bodies have shown up by the pier," informed Gordon.

Alarm bells immediately rang in Batman's ears. He felt a wave of dizziness hit him, but he kept that close to him. While attempting to blink is away, Batman clutched on to the pipe.

"Go on," he ordered.

Strutting over to a position near Batman - but never looking at him - Gordon took out another cigarette. Both stared at it, considering, the pocketed it again. His coat billowed in the chilled air.

"Only one could be identified. The moment he was I called you." Gordon swung his gaze around. "Marcus Willis, Batman. Cause of death is unknown, so far, but it's highly suspected to be a murder."

Through all of it Batman could feel his entire body beginning to clench up. His hand squeezed his knee in a pattern to keep himself centred. His next words were choked.

"Does Wayne know?" he bit.

Gordon shook his head, of course. "He doesn't need to."

Batman furrowed his brows. He knelt down on his opposite leg. "You're withholding information. Why?"

"Mr. Willis was one of the only two people with the ability to say Bruce isn't guilty. Seeing as he went missing, more questions rose to the table."

Gordon shared a look with the Batman. He waved his hand in a circular gesture. 

"Get where I'm going with this?" he ended.

Batman huffed. The death of Marcus would only make his situation harder if any of the information went public. Not only that, but if Bruce Wayne - who obviously wasn't, but Gordon didn't need to know that - was guilty, then his knowledge of Marcus' death would only further any plans Bruce had to make himself innocent. 

Batman shuddered. He always hated being involved in these cases. Thinking about himself in third person was just odd. 

Gordon did have a point, though. As much as Batman disdained to think about it, letting anyone else know this information would only put a terrible effect on everyone involved.

He needed to see the bodies. No doubt they were in GCPD custody at this point, but it wasn't as though Batman couldn't get in there. If he could get to them then he might be able to identify who the other person is - he could only hope that it wasn't Miles - and how they died.

"Can you get me access to the morgue?" Batman proceeded at long last.

Gordon snapped over to where Batman sat to get a good look at him. The shadows made it a bit difficult, but it wasn't odd. He pushed up his glasses. 

"I can try," he answered. "But it could turn some of the officers against me. Everyone is thinking you've gone rogue after...y'know."

"They're always against you," Batman pointed out. He couldn't help but smirk along with Gordon.

"Yeah, well, the corrupt are. But the good cops might turn." Gordon sighed. "We'll need to be careful, is all I'm saying."

Batman clenched his jaw. He didn't say anything more. By then Gordon could pick up on a cue to continue on with thoughts.

"There's a sewer system nearby," he suggested. "If you can find your way up to the morgue then I can distract Dr. Birming long enough that you can analyse what you need."

Batman grunted in affirmation of the plan. He raised his gauntlet to tap in a few new coordinates. A small map of the city popped up. Gordon watched with mute interest.

Zooming in on the GCPD building, Batman highlighted all sewer system entrances by it. He looked to Gordon for assistance, who merely pointed at one.

"That one will get you closest to what you need. It leads up to the cell vents, but once you get passed that-"

"The morgue is next to them," Batman added. "I know."

Gordon puffed a chuckle. "Of course you do. You're Batman."

Batman let out a soft laugh too, but he didn't smile. He watched as Gordon shuffled back over to his previous placement.

"Say, what _is_ the Joker situation? It's not that I don't believe that you have the best intentions in mind, it's just that it's not exactly your move to help the clown out. Got something up your sleeve that I should know about?"

Gordon turned around to face Batman. A frown fell over him, and he slumped.

"You'd think after all of these years I'd be used to him leaving like that."

\----

The city streets were filthier than usual.

The build up of brown and grey mush piled up by cars made the sidewalks slippery and disgusting. Everywhere Batman grappled to was a question of whether he would land or slide off.

Eventually deciding that it was best to lie low to ground level in case of falling, Batman hopped from one edge to another as gracefully as he could possibly manage. He landed on top of a jutting out ledge of some random building, but kept himself out of the light.

"Alfred?" he called, clicking the comm button. "Alfred, come in."

The familiar beep and soft static tone of the receiver came back to Batman. He didn't even bother to wait.

"I'm breaking in to the GCPD with Gordon's help, but I need your help with the schematics of the sewers. Has any construction happened in the past few weeks to have any problems in my way?"

"Well, let me just see here," cooed a voice that most certainly was not Alfred Pennyworth.

Batman snapped his teeth together. "What are you doing, Joker?"

"Helping," Joker responded. "Is this why you would always blank out and speak to no one? I always thought you were talking to yourself."

"Call Alfred down."

"No can do, Batsy-roo. We gotta solve this mystery," Joker chided teasingly, then proceeded to laugh at himself.

"You don't know how to work the computer," Batman pointed out in the flattest tone he could muster.

At that, Joker hissed in. He popped his lips, and the sound made Batman flinch. Only a moment later Joker was back on the line.

"It doesn't look that complicated, Bats."

" _Joker._ "

Joker groaned, which was followed by the squeak of a chair and a surprised noise. Batman held back a soft chuckle and forced down smirk.

' _Not funny,_ ' he reminded himself.

"Come _on_. What's the point of me being here if I don't get to help out?" Joker intercepted once more. Much closer to the mic, the next words were sung out in crackles,"Pleaaaase, Batsy. I promise I won't do anything bad."

Batman could practically see the pout on the Joker. He sighed loudly, which caught someone's attention below, so he quickly glided to another building across the way.

He needed someone to stay with him while he coordinated the sewers. If anything went wrong and no one was on the other line to send him a way out then he would be, to put it simply, screwed. 

It was clear Joker was putting Alfred as his last resort, and even if he did do it then he would need to do something else. The clown was the definition of stir crazy, and if he got even a sniffle of cabin fever then he would do any god forsaken thing that came to his mind. That could mean anything from testing the height of Batman's dinosaur statue to creating weapons out of small objects in the cave. Neither option sounded all that pleasant to Batman.

"Fine," he resigned. "But you have to take my orders. And you _can not_ distract me. Do you understand?"

He winced at the loud laughter that echoed through his ear piece. Batman recoiled at the noise, but didn't complain. It was something he would have to get used to, he supposed.

"Focus, Joker," Batman pushed when the clown started off on some singing rant.

Joker cleared his throat. The wheels of the chair squeaked. "Right. _Focus._ What's up?"

Batman's shoulders lowered with his exhale. He lifted his gauntlet to click a few keypads. He watched as the different numbers and letters flashed across his suit's technology.

"I'm sending you the coordinates of a sewer system near the GCPD. I need you to send back a mapped out trail that leads directly to the morgue inside of the-"

"Gotcha," Joker interrupted.

Followed up to the clown's words was the warp of his map lighting up with the new location. A bright purple light flared over the department, but zooming in revealed it to be a camera directly pointing down inside of the cell block. Batman grumbled and closed it.

He hopped down from the building top and soared down in to the alleyway. Detective vision was clicked on, and nearby heat signatures popped up. All citizens were out on the street, to his luck. Batman came to a gentle pace on his way to the manhole.

" _Oh, thank you, J. I really appreciate the help,_ " he heard growled in his ear. Then, in Joker's normal tone,"Psh, anything for you, Bats! But you really don't need to thank me."

"Then you won't mind if I don't," Batman shot back. He smiled at the offended scoff he received.

"Haven't you ever heard of common decency, darling?"

"Says the clown who kills people."

Joker barked another exasperated laugh out. "You know, you'd think for a rich boy you'd have been taught at least _some_ manners."

Batman rolled his eyes against his own will. He hadn't even realised he had still been smiling until a fist connected with his jaw.

Detective vision shut off immediately to reveal a man all ready lunging back at him. Batman didn't get a look at their face before he was being forced to pull their nails off of his exposed chin. Each digit was incredibly cold; moreso than the ice crunching beneath their tumbling feet. Batman pried them off within seconds, but the cool touch stayed clinging to his skin.

"Bats? What the hell in going on?"

Batman grunted and grabbed the person by their shoulders. His hand pulled down their skull in to his knee, sending a sick crack through the empty alley. The body crumpled to the ground.

"Hello? Anyone there?" Joker asked again. "If you shut me off, Bats-"

"I'm here, Joker," Batman answered. He spit next to himself. "I was jumped."

Joker went silent. Meanwhile, Batman knelt down to take a look at the attacker. They were sprawled over on their stomach, so he was forced to grab on to their shoulder and roll them over.

Batman's nose scrunched. His eyes narrowed, and he shuffled around their form. No breath could be seen in the icy puffs, much unlike everyone else's, and their face was an extremely pale color. Parts of exposed skin were blotched, as though their blood was clotted from freezing underneath.

"My apologies, darling, but..." 

Ah, Joker was back. Wonderful. 

"Did you say were _jumped? The_ Batman got jumped?"

Batman hummed. "I hadn't seen them coming," he explained. 

The moment the words came he realised how odd that appeared. Joker must have caught the mistake as well, for he whistled.

"But don't you have that heat vision thing?" he inquired, but it was obviously rhetorical, seeing as he continued without answer. "If they were coming it would have let you know."

To check that it was working, Batman clicked on the vision. He turned his head and saw the faint heat signature of someone behind a building far off, but when he looked down at his attacker, nothing but a body could be seen. Not even a little heat came off of them.

He switched it to cool setting. Instantly he was shown the radiating body before him. Anyone else would assume them to be dead. 

Batman stood and turned his vision off. He snuck around the corner and checked for anyone else, but was met with nothing. Suspicion crept into his mind.

"Yeah," he finally agreed with Joker.

He continued on with his path to the sewer, but kept his senses on the high in case of another attack. 

"Do you think this has anything to do with us?" wondered Joker. His tone had audibly taken a serious note.

Batman made a disgruntled noise. "There's no us, Joker. You're just an asset in my investigation."

He uncovered the manhole ahead and slid down the ladder. The smell of sewage and damp rusted walls invaded his senses. Batman had to hold back the urge to vomit while he brought up the map Joker had provided for him. 

"Nah," Joker objected. "You like me. You just don't want to admit that you're friends with me. Is it because I'm a clown? Because that's clown discrimination, Bats, and we don't like discrimin-"

"Which way do I go?" Batman interrupted yet again. 

"Left, then take the nearest door." A pause. Then, Joker sighed. "You never answered my question, darling."

Batman pressed himself up against the wall and crouched down as he neared the door Joker had mentioned. The splash of his feet in the water below was beginning to piss him off, but he did his best to ignore it. He knelt down outside of the door and took a batarang in hand.

The door swung open on rusty hinges. Batman snuck in with his weapon raised, and surveyed the room. When he found no one, he placed the batarang back again.

"What question?" he drawled, though he didn't much care.

"If you think that person who jumped you has anything to do with the case," Joker repeated. "Really, my dear, for a detective you have one shitty memory."

Batman made his way through the seperate system. It was a midsection between four different options, but none of them indicated direction.

"Maybe," he said shortly. "Which tunnel do I go through?"

Batman waited patiently for a response. In the meantime he adjusted his gauntlets and checked the map. He wasn't far from the GCPD, as far as he could tell. Gordon would be waiting at this point.

"The one on your right," Joker came back. "Go down it, but not far. There should be a vent somewhere down it that you can climb through. That's not a very specific answer, Bats."

Batman slid around the corner and jogged down the dripping corridor. If slipping in disgusting water puddles meant getting out of the sewer any faster, it would have been worth it. Given the decision to decide the place he hates most in Gotham, this would take the cake. Alfred would most certainly agree.

"It's the most specific you're going to get," Batman responded to Joker simply.

"I hope you realise that never telling me anything will get us no where."

Batman scowled and came to a stop. Just ahead of him he could see the faint glare of light reflecting off of the water to the vent. 

"I found the entrance," he informed. Batman skidded over and pulled off the grate. "Does it lead right up to the cell block?"

Joker clicked his tongue and spun around to search his own information. " _Eee_ yyyes. I think? Wait. Yes, it does."

Batman closed his eyes and suppressed a groan. He crouched down into the vent and began to push his way through the twisted maze.

"I'm going to cut off communication," he said plainly. "This next part I know."

Joker sounded like he was going to say something else, but Batman didn't get a chance to hear it. He let out a relieved breath at the silence surrounding him.

The system was covered in dust and cob webs. Batman had to keep up and arm at all times in order to keep anything out of his mouth. The dull drone of a fan going down some paths filled the tense air.

He knew exactly what to do. There wasn't anything to think through from this point onwards, which meant everything was quieter than usual. He was used to it. Batman worked alone and that was the end of it. Even Alfred tended to stay offline due to this knowledge.

Yet Joker's voice continued to echo through his ears like some sort of alarm needing to remind him of something.

Batman grumbled under his breath. That damned clown always had been able to get right under his skin.

An opening appeared, and the light of the GCDP's electrical could be seen up ahead. Any thoughts to reconnect with Joker disappeared. 

The steady drawl of officers outside met Batman's thoughts. He turned on his vision to see one of them standing in the cell block with their phone. To his luck, most of them stood inside the common department area. Although, there were two criminals locked up. One appeared to be asleep, and, from where he was crouched, the other was just sitting and staring at the wall.

Batman carefully kicked out the metal hinges, then placed the grate to the side. He snuck out behind the one sitting and watched the guarding officer.

"...assigned to a new case. Yeah, I know, it's fucking stupid. Batman appears to have gone bad, and here they are putting my ass on a regular day drug ring? Dumbasses."

Batman clenched his fists into balls. This guy was against him. What luck, he thought, huffing. Of all the GCPD officers he just _had_ to be placed with someone who thought he was rogue.

At least he knew.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. There are so many better cases for me. I could be on the damn Wayne problem right now, but no! I-"

The policeman was cut off by a strangled noise as Batman wrapped him in a choke hold. His eyes locked with the inmate, but neither said a word. Batman's tension dropped in slight relief. At least he wouldn't be caught from the criminal.

They probably thought they were on the same side, his mind provided bitterly.

The officer in Batman's arms dropped to the ground. Batman took the time to disconnect their call, then crouched outside of the door. No one appeared to be standing outside of it, so he flung it open and sped out towards the hallway to his left.

The moment he was covered, Batman took a sharp turn down another entry. He could hear Gordon from where he stood. Bending down and over to where the morgue was, he peeked inside to find Gordon speaking with the mortician. He popped up to make himself known. 

"Uh-" Gordon faltered when he spotted the Batman's form outside. He placed a hand on the worker's shoulder. "Actually, I have something I need to show you for the case. Could you come with me for just a minute here?"

Batman slinked over and pressed himself flat on the wall behind the door. It swung open and out came Gordon leading the other in the opposite direction. He left the room open a twinge.

When they rounded the corner, Batman slid inside the destination. He straightened out and went over to the metal tables lain out in the middle. Underneath the cloth were two bodies. From the smell they emitted, Bat man was certain it was who he was looking for.

He stood over one of them and stared down at it for some time. Each tick of the clock sent his stomach reeling further and further towards sickness. A shaky breath pushed out of Batman's lungs.

He picked up the cloth and pulled it back enough to see the face. Batman closed his eyes for only a second; allowing himself to piece himself back together.

Marcus stared up at the ceiling with dulled blue irises. His skin might as well have been porcelain, and little veins could be seen under the grey surface.

Batman studied his form as best as he could. His detective vision showed his cool form with just enough heat to appear as a human, but it was running out fast.

He scanned the body for any known injuries, but none came up for as far as he could see. Everything was completely clean. The deceived eye would see Marcus as nothing but a natural death.

Batman picked up the file on the end of the table. All history was clean. His heart condition was normal, family history of disease was nothing; - except for his mother, but she only had arthritis - he hadn't even had the flu in years, it seemed. Marcus was the height of health.

But there he was, dead on a metal slab.

Batman placed it back down. The other body might have something. Any hint at all would be nice. Paper under the fingernails even. At least it could give him a trail.

He didn't know what he had been expecting when Gordon said that they were unidentifiable. It just hadn't been _that_.

Their teeth were gone. Finger prints burnt off and eyes gauged out, a bullet hole gaped in the middle of their forehead. Shards of glass had been found in his face, according to the report, which explained the long gaping holes that split his face to a mushed mess.

Although their face was moulded to something disgusting, Batman could tell it was not Miles Falkner. The comfort he felt at thinking that was drowned out by the dread that came with realising he was trapped with whomever had created _this._

He turned on his detective vision for scanning the body. Many of the obvious injuries popped up, but those weren't the main focus. If he could find anything out of the ordinary, that was what he was going to hone in on.

Nothing came up on the feed. Even after a bit longer of inspection no information came up. Batman growled to himself. Looking for other injuries wasn't doing trick.

The gunshot wound, he realised. Batman zoomed in on the entry point, but the bullet had been removed long ago. Any powder residue had been cleaned away, as well as the blood. However, according to the report, the autopsy hadn't been done yet. Batman hummed.

The killers were the ones who cleaned off the body. They were smart, it seemed. Batman had already known that, but all the more confirmation never hurt. 

Looking further he could see the shine of old bleach and cloth particles, but the brand was general. Tracking through that wouldn't get him anywhere.

Batman gently tilted the head to search for the exit point. All of the hair was soft and clean. They had showered him completely.

Whoever had done this was very particular about not being caught; that much was obvious. All of the different steps taken to make certain that the person who did this was hidden were precise and, unfortunately, near perfect. Batman himself could barely figure it out.

Why not get rid of the bodies? The time to remove any spec from this person and Marcus was excessive. They could have just deteriorated them and made certain that no one would ever find evidence again.

Batman stopped his slow movements of turning the head. His eyes fell on the person's neck. Not a speck of dirt was on them, as he had found, but that seemed to be his saviour.

Switching his position to place one hand on the head and leave the other free, Batman zoomed in on their throat. His thumb pulled gently up on the stony skin.

Thin marks dotted the area. A tapestry of barely visible bruises that lined their veins. Batman took a moment to place the image in his case file drive, but stepped back the moment that he did. _Needle marks._

Batman took out an extra syringe and placed it up against the body's bicep. Though it could be useless, there was still a fair chance that trace evidence of any substance remained in their blood. 

Except the door handle was jiggling.

Instantly Batman pulled the cloth back over the body. He dove behind the door's visibility point before it clicked back open. In entered Gordon and Birming. Seeing that Batman was still there, Gordon flashed to drag the other over to the bodies so he could slip out.

Glancing towards the covered form of Marcus once more, Batman sprinted out.

\----

By the time he got back to the manor it was closer to six.

He had stopped to clear his mind on the way back - otherwise known as kicking some lowlife up the jaw - so that he wouldn't have any problems when he got back. More than he already had, that is.

Bruce had his suit off before he had managed to return to the manor. When he had arrived he simply parked the car in the driveway with its mask on, then went directly to his room. He was in dire need of a shower and change, that much was certain. Besides, he had to talk with Alfred. For some reason.

In all honesty, the reason he hadn't gone to the cave was because he did not want to encounter Joker right away. The panic that flooded Bruce's senses every time he came face to face with the clown sent him into a state that he could only portray through frusteration, and hell knows he was not up to any of that yet. 

Joker would most likely want to work as well. Bruce shivered at the mere thought. As much as he wanted to get the shit show over and done with, it felt like he hadn't breathed in weeks. A break was what he needed; even if it was a short lived one.

Not that Bruce would ever admit to such an aspect.

He was scrubbing his hair dry when he heard his door creak outside. Bruce gave one last harsh tug then dropped the towel and pulled on his sweatpants while opening the bathroom door awkwardly. Just as he had expected, Alfred stood with a look of slight amusement.

"Glad to see you made it home safely, sir," greeted he with a smile.

Bruce hummed his acknowledgment and hopped in to his room. He picked up a shirt on his bed, but threw it in the wastebasket when he heard the scowl behind him.

"You aren't a child, Master Bruce," Alfred scolded and tossed him a fresh top.

Bruce pulled it over his head and shrugged. "Can't I relax sometimes?" he said back, earning an eye roll and a smile.

"I simply came to check on you, and inform that supper will be ready in five minutes."

As he said this Bruce could smell the food being prepared downstairs. He hadn't even noticed it until it was brought up, but the hunger hit him as soon as he thought about it.

When was the last time he had eaten? It was before he had picked up Joker, that was for certain. Looking back, it seemed his meeting with Marcus had been the time. That was three days ago. Bruce hadn't even thought about the concept of eating with all that was going on around right then. 

"Thank you," he said to Alfred with a short blink.

Dread mixed in with the empty churn of his stomach. His mood soured immeasurably and a blank frown hit him.

"I shall bring down the clown's meal," Alfred told him as though reading Bruce's very thoughts.

Bruce shook his head. He ruffled his damp hair then ran it down his face.

"No," he protested. "Joker is my responsibility."

"It's no problem for me to do it, sir," Alfred pushed back. 

A spark of concern was alight in his expression, but Bruce did his best to ignore it. He crossed his arms. 

"It's alright, Al. It's just food. No harm done."

Although Alfred looked like he wanted to argue, he sighed and nodded in agreement. He clamped down on anything he was going to say and continued with a forced smile. Without a word he turned and went back to the downstairs kitchen.

Bruce scratched his forehead. He stood there for a few seconds to process whatever could possibly happen with his return to the cave. 

Joker would be ecstatic to have company. He hadn't seen anyone since the afternoon and that damn clown was terrible with seclusion. By now all of Bruce's equipment was probably damaged and turned into toys.

Forcing himself to head down, Bruce stumbled his way through the house. When he got down he was immediately hit with a strong whiff of flavour. His stomach growled against his will. 

He stood in the doorway to be out of the way. Alfred handed him one plate first, then raised a brow. Bruce stood there with an expression mirroring his.

"Will you be eating here or with the clown?" Alfred asked at last.

Bruce looked down at the tray in his hand. More than anything he wished he could slide it through some prison door to the Joker then scurry off to eat upstairs; in peace. Except the cave wasn't Arkham, and there were no doors to slide under.

"I have to stay with him," Bruce answered. "He could do something dangerous."

"He could also choke," Alfred mumbled lamely, but Bruce caught it and glared. 

Alfred shrugged and handed Bruce another plate. He balanced them both with ease while they traveled to the cave entrance.

Neither said anything while Bruce entered the lift. He slumped when he began his descent and willed himself to be more positive about the situation, but all he could think about was sitting at a nice table with Alfred and having a calm dinner. Maybe chatting about something mindless. As much as he despised the normalcy, he couldn't describe how nice that had sounded.

To his surprise, Bruce wasn't leapt at the moment he entered the cave. In fact, there was barely a noise at all. Any that went off were the normal sounds of the place, all of which Bruce could place easily.

Panic shot through him. Joker could have escaped. When Alfred was cooking he could have snuck up and gotten loose in the city. As he walked the clown could be strapping explosives to a building back in the city. Wayne Enterprises, most likely. Many would die. It wasn't even eight yet, so employees would be there. 

"Joker!" he called out. 

His voice echoed off of the walls, but no reply came. His heart rate picked up as he walked as fast as he could with a limp and two trays.

Bruce burst into Joker's makeshift room, ready to drop and run to his suit when he stopped short. His gaze landed on the mop of green peeking out from under the fresh sheets on the bed. A single pale leg stuck out and hung off the edge, but the rest of his body was curled under the covers to make a tiny ball.

Bruce felt goosebumps raise across his body. He set down the food as quietly as he could and stood a ways away from the bed for only a second. For some reason he felt the need to kneel down and rest a gentle hand on Joker's shoulder, though he stayed at a distance.

"Joker," he whispered and rocked the clown.

It took a second, but the Joker mumbled under his breath in a soft whisper. He shifted under Bruce, who removed his palm, and a green eye cracked ever so slightly open to meet blue.

"Hm?" Joker purred. 

He looked exhausted. His arms pushed under himself and he propped himself on his elbow. Curls fell heavy over Joker's sight, and his jaw twitched in an obvious attempt to force down a yawn. 

Watching it was like witnessing a torturous slow motion picture. Bruce felt his stomach drop. A part of him felt guilty over waking up Joker. He probably hadn't slept much in the past three weeks. Bruce hadn't even taken that into consideration, having been too self absorbed with his own schedule. He felt his cheek twinge.

"Eat," Bruce ordered instead of showing his overwhelming regret.

Joker turned his head to look at the food resting on the bedside table. 

"Fancy," commented he while he sat up. "What is it?"

He reached out to grab a dish, but the chain rattled and nearly tipped it over. Bruce huffed and handed it to him - he didn't mention the surprise when Joker quietly thanked him - then took his own bowl and sat in that same chair as from earlier. He stared down at the contents.

"Dinner," he said. 

"Hm," Joker hummed. He slurped up a small bit of the broth, then smirked contentedly. "It's good. Pennyworth must have made it."

To both of their shock, Bruce teased a small, "I'm not exactly what you'd call a chef."

Joker looked like he was about to spill his entire meal with the way he had frozen. It wasn't a joke, but it was the most relaxed sentence he had ever heard from the Batman. His smile grew, and he dropped the spoon.

"Not surprised," Joker joked back; as if to test the waters. "Pretty rich boys don't need cooking skills."

Bruce sneered, but he didn't seem frustrated. He wanted to be. Usually he would be. The deep feeling of frusteration within his bones was beginning to drag him down though. He couldn't find it within himself to be angry at Joker in that moment.

Besides, it was a little funny.

Bruce glanced up after a few moments of silence to find Joker staring down at his meal. He was messing with it. The spoon dipped in and poured back down the broth in a dripping stream. Every motion had Joker's eyes watching with interest, as though far in the distance of his mind.

However, he must have caught Bruce staring for his eyes turned up sharply to look directly into Bruce's. 

"Oopsie," Joker puckered. "I forgot I'm not allowed to play with my food."

Bruce shifted. "You aren't eating."

This time, Joker just gasped. He placed a hand over his open mouth in mock amazement. Bruce gave him an unamused stare.

"Truly, you are the world's greatest detective."

Bruce shot him a weary glare, and Joker scoffed out a sigh. He put a spoonful of soup in his mouth and swallowed, then smiled at his other.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Once again, he saw Joker's smile grow; it was cheeky. Every bit of Bruce felt like crawling into a hole and burying himself in there.

Joker wriggled in his spot. He snickered to himself.

"Gotta tell ya, Bats," he admitted,"I'm likin this whole niceness thing. Are you always like this under the mask? You just like me, don't you?"

"Why aren't you eating?" Bruce interjected through grinding teeth.

"Not hungry," Joker chided.

Bruce's expression portrayed his utter disbelief than any words could have. Joker snorted then pulled at pout.

"Aw, don't frown, Bats. I know you're used to it, but-"

"If you don't tell me anything then I'm not telling you anything."

Joker's face staled, and he met Bruce. A deep unsettlement filled the void between the two. Bruce watched as Joker stroked his hair back and ruffled the curls. The usual smile was gone, and his eyelashes fluttered.

"You're not going to tell me anything either way, darling," Joker chuckled, though it was incredibly dry.

Bruce was about to protest when he choked on his words. A flash of electricity stood up all of his arm hair, and he had to curl his fingers to stop himself from twitching in discomfort.

"You have a point," he admitted at long last. 

"However," he continued when he saw Joker's expression. It deflated immediately. 

Bruce set his own soup down again. He blinked harshly and crossed his arms. Joker scooted back and forth to slump over and rest his hands in his lap. An inquisitive head nod came.

"I'm waiting, dear."

Again, Bruce blinked. He inhaled slightly. "We need to lie down some ground rules."

This time Joker was struck silent. He watched Bruce with those vibrant eyes of his completely blank. Despite this, Bruce could feel it coming. He could sense the rumbling laughter that started in Joker's chest and grew to an echoing howl; the extended smile that was too big for any normal human being. Bruce braced himself.

But it never came.

Joker continued to frown. He pulled back to hunch in on himself, but never completely pulled away. He squinted.

"Alright," he agreed - much to Bruce's surprise - and proceeded with a small smirk,"Lay 'em on me."

Bruce kneaded his arms in a gentle pattern only he knew. To be honest, he had thought that he would have more time to think about the answer. Usually Joker was quick to retaliate, which gave the perfect amount of time to make something up. This, however, flipped that around.

Joker must have sensed the hesitation, for a low chuckle vibrated within him. 

"Don't tell me the Batman is at a loss for bossing me around." Gasping, Joker grinned. "Impossible. You always have something to yell at me for. Don't tease me."

Bruce snarled. He held a strong glare towards the bubbling clown, but didn't miss how reserved Joker was. Not many people would be able to see the calm restraint Joker had on himself, but- 

Well, Bruce wasn't people.

Forcing himself to breathe, Bruce forced out a gentler tone.

"My equipment is off limits," he stated simply. 

There wasn't even a bit of venom in his voice. Joker huffed. His lips curled into a smile.

"What if I get permission?" he asked, but it was obvious that it was only a joke.

"You won't."

Immediately Joker's expression fell mute. Bruce didn't bother to hesitate in the silence before breaking it. They didn't need any more awkward pauses.

"If I ask a question, you answer - _honestly_."

Joker's brows pushed down. "Why?"

He knew why. Bruce could see it. Joker knew why, he had always know why, but - being the petty bastard that he is; he wanted more. He always wanted more. All for laughs.

"You already know the answer," Bruce spoke his thoughts. 

"Yes," Joker hummed.

They were nose to nose once more, somehow. Each took in as much as they could of the other's face in the short instance. The need to analyse was too strong for either of them.

"But do you?" completed the clown.

For once, Bruce wasn't all to certain as to what that meant. Joker must have caught his questioning look because a giggle echoed the stone walls outside.

"Don't think about it too much, darling. You'll get it eventually."

Not seeing a point in going after that, Bruce shook his himself and sat back. Joker tilted his head.

"Talking is only permitted if it's me," he ventured onward.

Joker didn't seem at all phased by the change of topic. A curling smirk flashed over him once again, and he snickered.

"Subtext: Don't touch the butler or my fingers are as good as gone," Joker said. "No worries, Bats. I'm not interested in him."

The glimmer of tease in Joker's eyes sent Bruce reeling. His throat constricted and his stomach churned from pure repulsion. How was it that everything hit harder without the mask?

When Bruce didn't reply, Joker yawned and stretched out. His barely eaten dinner was left on the stand as he flopped down on his back with his hands behind his head. 

"If we're done here, I'd like to get some rest. Clowns need their beauty sleep too."

The grin off set the image of a curled up Joker underneath the blankets Bruce had seen earlier by a long shot. He had to stop and rethink whether that had been the same person at all. Then again, seeing the dark spots under Joker's eyes no longer concealed by makeup made him want to believe it.

Bruce rubbed his face. A scratchy stubble was forming on his chin, and he scratched it. Although he would have liked to get more done, they both needed some rest. Loathe he was to admit it, Joker needed more recovery time before any work could truly get done.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Bruce informed while he stood to grab the plates.

"Don't worry your pretty chiseled face, Bats. I'll be here."

Joker flashed another smile that was far more tired than Bruce would have liked to see on him. He ignored the guilty tighten of his chest.

"Right," he said, not sure what to reply.

If he heard Joker's quiet goodnight, he didn't show it.


	8. The Candy Man Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question games can be a bit intense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few months, but hello everyone, and welcome back!! You all have more patience than anyone I have ever met and I have immense respect for you.
> 
> Alright, good news, everything that has kept me back from writing is over, which means that we are officially back on track! I can't promise that I'll have a new chapter up weekly, but it won't take months for only one anymore. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the support and the lovely comments. Not only did you push me to finish this chapter, but you really did make my day. I love you all!!
> 
> With that, I present to you, chapter eight:

Just as promised, Bruce was back the next morning. 

Nothing had really happened. Once again they talked, but also didn't, in some oddly twisted way. Neither were certain as to what they were supposed to be saying. What was there besides work? And they couldn't get to that yet. Not Joker.

A full week went by like this. Throughout the entire period Bruce had been struggling with the cases. The Wayne side was being put under a spotlight. Most of his business affairs were being put on hold by companies who wouldn't risk being involved with a possible murder case. 

At home he locked himself in his room. By now it was covered in papers of Albert's life, connections to the Arkham break deal for lawsuit purposes, files on Miles, Marcus and Mabel, and, of course, the Joker. The only time he left his room was to run something over on the main computer, and to give Joker his meals. 

After that first week with him they had come down to simply eating in tense silence. Bruce could tell with each visit that Joker was becoming restless. He would be lying if he said he wasn't as well.

The dull scratch of Joker's plastic fork falling against his plate got Bruce's attention. They hadn't even sat by each other in three days. Both just watched news reports and ate as quickly as possible until he left.

Bruce turned to find Joker on top of a small and useless table that had only ever been used for placing papers on top of. For a while Bruce had forgotten he even had it sitting in the middle of the lower decks, but Joker had clung to it immediately. Every time Bruce went down he was either bouncing around in the spare room or messing around with the furniture piece. 

"I'm bored," Joker stated. 

He slipped backwards and off of the table into a chair, but his legs remained propped up. 

Bruce humphed. "What a tragedy," he drawled, though he set down his plate as well. "You'll survive."

"Ah, don't be such a downer, darling," continued the clown with a grin at his own phrasing. "Let's play a game."

More than anything Bruce wanted to snap out a harsh _fuck off_ , but if he didn't do something soon he was certain Joker would go insane. More than usual, at least. The possible chaos wasn't something Bruce quite felt like putting up with.

With an agitated sigh, Bruce stood. The Joker giggled in excitement. He wriggled to get his legs off of the table then hooked his ankle around a nearby chair and swung it to the opposite of him.

Bruce caught it and shared a look with Joker. "I don't have any cards. Or board games."

Joker shrugged at this. He was fidgeting in his seat, Bruce could tell, but seemed to be holding back from it. How interesting.

"Don't worry, Bats, I already had a game in mind."

Suspicion immediately rose in Bruce's chest. He pulled his eyebrows together, but said nothing. At long last he sat. Joker smiled.

"Pull anything-" Bruce interjected, but he wasn't able to finish.

"You'll kick my teeth in, etcetera, etcetera. I know. I'm not an idiot, Bats. Can we play now?"

The serious bluntness in Joker's eyes shook Bruce a little more than he would've liked to say. He wasn't certain he had ever seen the clown so stern about something like this. Bruce cleared his throat.

"Uh, yeah. What is it?"

Joker's smile sent even more warning - could it be called warning? He didn't feel in danger. Just...confused - signs Bruce's way. Without fail, Joker proceeded:

"It's simple. I ask you a question, you answer, and the other way around. But if it's a lie and the asker figures it out, they get to ask another one that you _have_ to tell the truth on. The other way around if it was actually true. Got it?"

Bruce's fingers curled. He set his face. "If you think this will get you anywhere with the case-"

"No, no," Joker said. "If I need to know anything about the work, you'll tell me. Eventually. I hope. Seriously, you need to soon though."

His stone cold expression reflected that response with such a sincerity that Bruce couldn't help but believe him on. 

"Alright," agreed Bruce, though his voice dragged with hesitation. He indicated towards Joker. "You go first."

With a shuffle, Joker hummed as though inquiring something. It was almost amusing, seeing as Bruce could tell that the question had been made the moment the game started.

"What's your favorite color?" Joker said.

Bruce raised a brow. So they were playing hard to get, huh? He could do that.

"Blue," he answered simply. 

The disgruntled cough came from Joker immediately. He threw himself back on his chair.

"How boringly cliché. Though I guess that fits you well."

Bruce's pursed his lips at Joker, who proceeded to giggle at the expression. He waved Bruce off nonchalantly.

"Take a joke, darling. It's your turn."

Huffing, Bruce tilted his head to the side. He pretended to analyse the Joker just the same as he had. It elicited a smirk, to both of their amusement.

"Favorite food?" 

"Don't have one," Joker shot back quicker than Bruce thought possible.

Immediately Bruce scoffed. He leaned his elbows on the table. Joker kicked his feet up on the edge.

"You're lying," Bruce concluded, but was met with a gentle smile that reminded him of someone that certainly could not be the clown before him.

"Nope!" he exclaimed with a resounding pop. "Never been much of an eating type. Though I do enjoy candy, on the occasion. Now I get to ask you a question, and you-"

"Have to answer seriously," Bruce finished. They locked gazes. "I got it."

For a moment Joker only stared. His painted fingernails rapped against the table in deliberate motions. Each individual strike made Bruce tense further, and Joker must have noticed, for he smiled cooly.

"Relax, darling, I'm not going to strangle you. It's against the _rules_."

Bruce didn't quite seem to believe him, but he relaxed somewhat anyhow. One of the main topics of playing anything are good rules. Many people - a lot - assumed Joker didn't follow any. At first Bruce agreed. Although, after so many years of fighting the clown, he knew it was the opposite. 

Yes, okay, Joker would cheat sometimes, but that was only on someone else's terms. If there was anything Joker loved it was a good game. A puzzle to be solved, and a set of rules to be followed. Anyone who broke them were dutifully punished. Bruce had seen it himself.

Joker hid behind a funny mask of chaos, though he was anything but. His rules may have been crazy, but they were a code to be reckoned with. 

Because of this, Bruce found himself relaxing. It had been a while since he had reminded himself of that fact. Perhaps if the game was interesting enough Joker would be able to play along without cheating.

As if he had heard Bruce's thoughts, Joker laughed. It caught the Bat's attention immediately.

"Good to know," Joker mumbled to himself, but Bruce couldn't understand what it was he now knew. He would have asked, but it wasn't his turn. No need to get on the bad side yet.

"Alrighty! I think I've got one. It's a bit of a doozy, so I warn ya, Bats, if you want to chicken out-"

"Just ask the damn question, Joker."

"Geez, Batsy, this is supposed to be fun. You act like it'll kill ya if you loosen up a little."

"It might," Bruce snarled back. His hands clamped together on the tabletop between them.

At this, Joker scoffed. He ran his fingers through his messy curls, tugged at the small hairs on his neck, then hurumphed.

"Do you enjoy being Batman?"

Bruce sat very still. He dazed off behind Joker to where he could see all of his memorabilia as he thought. Weight pressed down on his chest, and his wounds ached like a phantom reminder of what the question meant.

"No," he answered simply. 

He darted back to Joker's face. A jolt went right through him at the openly curiosity painted over the clown. With each passing second Bruce was able to pinpoint something new about Joker even if they never spoke.

Joker was always an open book. He never cared much about who he let see what and when, never mind the cautions. Batman had seen all that he could over the years when it came down to it.

Turned out he was far off.

Joker was an open book, but the pages seemed to be blank. In the past Bruce had seen them as covered in words, but seeing him then without an inch of makeup on his snowy skin, all of them seemed to wash away. One droplet of water and all of it was smudged. Without the dust jacket Bruce was seeing a completely different cover.

"I know I'm pretty, but there's no need to stare."

Bruce shuddered and blinked his daze back into reality. Though Joker's expression remained an open canvas, Bruce forced himself to remain a wall.

"Is it my turn?" he countered.

Joker tapped down on the table in that drumming motion once more. He chewed at his cheek and nodded. 

With a cleared throat, Bruce decided he would ask an easy question. "Are you with anyone?"

Joker's smile twitched. He rolled his eyes and his feet wiggled on the edge of the table.

"Interested in my love life, darling?" Joker winked, raising a scowl, then chucked. "No, I'm not with anyone."

Bruce, despite his own iron will to keep it under control, scoffed. "Liar," he called out.

Joker hissed and shook his head no. He perched his fingers up in his lap in obvious enjoyment of Bruce's confusion. 

"Do you prefer being Bruce Wayne?" Joker asked suddenly.

Bruce snorted, but it was laced with malcontent. An honest answer to a simple question.

"God no," he said. He didn't give Joker any time to respond before asking,"Aren't you with Harley?"

Joker's own chuckle echoed off of Bruce's perfectly. "We haven't been together for years, Batsy."

Both lost in their own heads for a moment, the pair stared at each other while simultaneously being in completely different worlds.

"Why be Batman if you don't enjoy it?" broke Joker.

Bruce's eyes narrowed, and Joker mimicked it. 

"Gotham needs someone like Batman to protect them against..." He trailed off and curled his fingers tight around each other.

Joker snickered to himself, but his expression showed something Bruce couldn't quite pinpoint. Behind that smile was an emotion he had definitely never seen before. Not on anybody.

"Against psychotic purple clowns and giant crocodile men."

Bruce forced down the tiny smile creeping up on him. His lungs squeezed against the effort, but it did well since Joker didn't seem to catch it.

"It's your turn, dearest," Joker spoke and tapped his fingers once.

"Is Harley with anyone?"

Joker's smile turned up. His cheeks made a telltale twitch of the laughter that had already begun to shake the clown's shoulders.

Bruce watched with mild annoyance as Joker giggled recklessly. It only

"Of all the questions you could ask me right now, you ask about someone else. Always the curious one, huh? You could be learning anything you wanted about me, but here you are, asking about Harley."

"No, I couldn't."

Joker paused and took the time to process what Bruce said. He crossed his legs and wriggled back and forth.

"Whatever do you mean, darling?"

"I mean," he started; his tone was oddly sincere for what he would usually use as anger, "that ou don't know shit about yourself."

Joker squeaked out a chuckle. "Language there, pretty boy, I'm sure that golden tongue of your's can't-"

"Joker," Bruce pushed on, now leaning forward to meet Joker's flickering gaze. 

Joker paused and forced up a smile of half interest. Bruce could see right through it, as always. 

"You've told me yourself," he stated. "You barely remember your past. Glimpses, little ideas at the most. What was it you said? Something about options."

He could hear Joker mumble a few snotty words. Bruce hummed back in a mocking tone that had Joker snapping back a snarl. It returned to indifference in a flash.

Bruce blinked sharply. Once more he turned to meet Joker's averting gaze. Both were colder than Victor in a snowstorm. Even so, Bruce placed a peaceful hand between them on the table. To his content, Joker looked at it.

"My point is," Bruce proceeded - even he was astonished by the gentleness to his tone,"you don't know the answer to any of the questions about you. And, from what I've gathered, that's not exactly the point of the game."

At last Joker's dark green eyes returned to Bruce's. They held for a moment until Bruce slid his hand back to himself and shifted.

"So, how about you answer my question about Harley, and we forget this."

Joker took a second to consider this, and, for more than he would like to admit, Bruce felt sick at the thought that he might be forced to leave. If he left, Joker might do something damaging. He was Joker, after all. Even if he wasn't known to randomly break objects.

God forbid Bruce be having _fun_.

"Ivy," Joker answered at last.

The knots in Bruce's stomach lessened instantly. He switched his attention back to the game at hand, and he raised a brow.

"Poison Ivy?" he countered.

"Ah ah ah, Bats, wait your turn," Joker said with an air of tease that made Bruce frown.

How could anyone be so _annoying_?

Pleased with Bruce's lack of response, Joker slung himself back over his chair. His fingers flexed and twitched in the open air.

"Why become Batman?" Joker pushed. "I mean, what made you want to dress like a giant bat and leap from tall buildings to punch ol' Eddie on the jaw?"

Bruce tilted his head back. He humphed in surprise, which Joker clearly caught, for an equally confused smile flashed across him.

"Did I say something wrong, dear?"

With a click of his tongue, Bruce shook himself. "No, not at all. I just... seeing as you seem to be my biggest fan, I assumed you knew."

At this, Joker beamed. The odd reaction sent a jolt through Bruce's chest. Although crazy as ever, Joker looked _delighted._ Happy, even. It was just a regular smile. Somehow Bruce hadn't expected that to ever exist. 

He almost smiled back. 

_Almost._

"You know what happened to my parents," he started, only proceeding when he saw the nod of acknowledgment. Bruce licked his lips.

And so he explained. Every pain staking detail of how the city needed saving, how the corruption of what was happening underground was something his parents fought against, how he wished to preserve that idea; even how from a young age he had realised that the police would never be able to do that alone.

He left a few parts out. Personal feelings, the oh so tragic backstory of Bruce Wayne and what really happened - those were things Joker didn't need to know. He had asked about Batman, after all.

Even then, Joker seemed to be hooked onto every word that came out of Bruce's mouth. As many of the disbelieving chuckles he received, Joker still listened intently.

"...even if it means getting near killed by green smart asses and a luchador with an ego inflation on a nightly."

Joker snorted - no maniacal laugh; _snorted_ \- at the last part. Bruce kept his gaze narrowed on the clown as he ended his answer, but nothing out of the ordinary seemed to come up.

"How very heroic of you, Bats," Joker grinned. "Again, cliché, but so sickeningly you that I can't find it within myself to care."

Bruce gruffed at the same time as Joker tried and failed to suppress a yawn. The rebound of it caused Bruce to cover his own face as he repeated the very same action. 

"We should both get some rest," Bruce pointed out at last. "Neither of us are exactly up to par yet."

"Mm," sang Joker, though it came out more of a half hearted hum. "You're going to keep looking over police reports all night, aren't you?"

The disapproving eyebrow had Bruce smirking despite himself. It reminded him far too much of Alfred. It always had. The lack of makeup didn't help either.

"Yeah," he said, almost surprising himself with the blunt honesty. 

Joker uncrossed his legs and clamped his hands together. A sly grin found it's way up on him, and he wiggled.

"Any way I could join the party this time? It'd be fun," he cooed.

Bruce rose from his seat. Unfortunately for the both of them, the sound of his knees cracking from last week still rang out. Both winced, though it didn't hurt anymore. He made contact with Joker.

"Maybe next time," he murmured. 

Immediate discomfort sat in his chest at the frown on Joker's face. However, a giggle came out next, and another beam took the frown's place.

"At least promise that you'll stay a little longer for breakfast tomorrow? I'm liking the whole Jokes-on-Bat, mano y mano time we have here. But maybe bring something less dramatic, like candy land."

Bruce let out a deep sigh, and he nodded swiftly. Turning his back, he made his way over to the elevator.

"We'll see," he called.

\-----

Candy Land was much more fun.

\-----

Bruce rubbed his palms over his eyes. 

The strip of moonlight coming in through the window was being slowly taken over by a dull pink overcast of dawn. Bruce watched it in fascination for god only knows how long. Probably two minutes. It felt like an hour.

Maybe he should have slept.

Bruce scratched at his scalp and sniffed as he forced himself to drag back over to the open laptop at his feet. He leaned forward - fuck, his back ached. How long had he been sitting like this? Three hours? Shit - and clicked through a few more windows. Way too many were open for him to keep count of which ones were which and why, but he wasn't exactly paying too much attention to them anyhow.

He sighed and slumped into the pillows pressed up in a hill behind him and rested his head back. The thought fleeting across his mind reminded him that it was a vulnerable position for his throat to be cut, but he shook away the thought. It was his own house, for fuck's sake.

The clock read six thirty. Bruce blinked harshly and pushed it away from him; as though that would somehow stop the time from being so early. He threw his reading glasses to the side.

Joker would be up soon. The last few days of going down to actually spend time with the clown revealed that he slept about as long as Bruce did on a good night. The only difference was that he falls asleep early and wakes up the same way, and Bruce does the exact opposite.

Besides the point, Joker would be needing breakfast soon enough. With that thought, Bruce's own stomach rumbled in agreement.

The damn clown was accumulating Bruce to his schedule too.

It turned out Joker hadn't been lying when he said he didn't eat much. Of course, it wasn't completely true, seeing as it had been a play on words, but Bruce didn't care all that much. It only took three days for the exact problem to come up.

Bruce forced himself out of bed. He rolled off the mattress and landed on the cold tiles with a gruff noise of protest from his creaky body, and he scratched his stomach in retaliation. He picked up a loose shirt and sweats lying on the floor and haphazardly pulled them on. 

The smell of food cooking when his door was open indicated that Alfred was already awake. Bruce blinked against the hall light as his pupils adjusted to the change. 

It was becoming a normal occurrence for this to happen. Not for Bruce to stay awake all night then stumble through the manor - that had always happened. Waking up early to smell food already being made rather than mid morning when Bruce usually rose was. Seeing Alfred humming in the kitchen while he danced around calmly making breakfast for three, and an already poured glass of coffee on the counter waiting for Bruce.

He came to a stop and picked up the mug of strong black bitterness. He drank it straight faced, but sipped as not to burn his tongue. It happened anyway, of course, but at least he tried.

The noise turned Alfred around. Not in his suit yet, but rather his relaxed outfit. Bruce was reminded of simpler times when they would sit and _talk_. Even as the determined child he was, Alfred had forced him to take breaks. Bruce never thought he'd miss that.

"Good morning, Master B," greeted Alfred.

"Nghk," grunted Bruce. "Morning."

He sat down in his seat and checked the nearest clock. Fifteen minutes had passed. Joker would be up. Bruce sighed and took another drink, hissing as it sent steam into his face.

"Anxious to get down there, sir?"

Bruce tilted his head up to watch Alfred's smirking face be turned back to the breakfast. A scowl took over Bruce.

"If you mean to get it over with as quickly as possible, then yes," he said sourly. "I am anxious."

He didn't hear Alfred reply, but the sound of plates sliding in front of him caught Bruce's attention once more. He came face to face with Alfred, who took his tea and sipped it.

"What?" Bruce asked at the all too familiar sight.

Alfred shrugged with an air of nonchalance, but Bruce could tell there was something he wanted to say. It didn't come up, however. Instead, Alfred placed down his cup and made his way over to the table for his own meal.

"I have something for you for when you're finished with the clown," he informed simply.

Bruce laughed shortly. "Is it my birthday?" he teased.

Alright, maybe Joker was rubbing off on him a bit.

Going straight faced under Alfred's raised brow, he took the two plates and made his way to the cave entrance.

"I'll be back soon," he called on his way out.

\-----

The Joker was a picky eater. 

Not only with food, but with most everything. After a few days he had gotten more and more prominent with clothing choices, the way he set up his bedding; even how he placed cards or game peices down. 

Of all the different people Bruce had expected to be picky, he somehow hadn't expected Joker to be one.

He should have. The amount of times Joker had gotten angry because his plan didn't go perfectly as it was supposed to should have raised some flags.

At first Bruce had been frustrated about this. It wasn't that it was difficult to manage. All it took to get everything in place so that Joker didn't go on a rampage about everything being perfect was to have a small talk about what he prefers. 

The _problem_ was that Joker had lied in their first game. Technically he hadn't completely, but he'd cheated. Another loophole, just like everything else Joker does. The little things like that were always what made Bruce's blood boil about the clown.

Joker was a damn piece of work for someone who seemed to enjoy chaos so much.

The sound of a voice brought him out of his daydream. Bruce raised a brow as he placed down another card and moved his piece. 

"What?" he asked having obviously not been listening.

He watched as Joker looked at the board and analysed it carefully. Perfection, as always. Bruce eyed the way the clown's forehead pinched in thought, and the way that his boney fingers worried old scars littering his arms. 

"You look tired, darling," he heard Joker mumble at last.

The edges of Joker's lips curled up in that way he seemed to get when he was genuinely happy about something. Bruce took it to mind in the 'New Information Slot' he had started creating in the past two weeks they had been spending together.

"I didn't sleep," Bruce admitted while he shifted his tiny cardboard character across the chutes and ladders board.

"Working hard?"

Bruce glared at the scrutinising giggle that came his way. Joker split into a grin and made his own move while Bruce took another sip of his now cold coffee.

"Any chance I'll get to help out soon, or am I to remain your loyal pet?" 

This time, Bruce hesitated before answering. He watched Joker over the edge of his mug, who didn't look up until the last moment. Messy curls shifted with the movement. Bruce set down his drink.

"Maybe."

Joker scowled and sat back. He looked incredibly displeased with his bottom lip stuck out in an angry pout. Bruce refused to smile.

"I can't just sit around and twiddle my thumbs forever, Bat," he spat. "You and I both know that I can't wait while a perfectly good puzzle is in my view."

Bruce had to stop himself from mocking the use of the rage nickname. He didn't feel like fighting off Joker from strangling him. It was too early.

His eyes flicked down to the board. He reached out and moved his piece to the winning spot. Joker barked out a laugh that sounded more like a growl than anything.

"I'll bring new clothes down later," Bruce said whilst getting up. "I have something I need to attend to."

"Oo," Joker purred. 

Though his obvious annoyance at losing was clinging to his every movement, Joker continued to trail after Bruce.

"Sounds like fun. Can I come?"

Bruce's shoulder blades tensed under the material of his shirt. He turned to glare at Joker, but lost it the moment he set eyes on the innocent smile looking back at him. A shuddering sigh fell through Bruce.

"Not today," he begrudgingly answered. Upon seeing the excited shiver Joker got, Bruce cut off the next bit: "But don't get your hopes up."

Joker giggled and backed up to sit down in a little spinning chair. He pulled his knees up to his chest and began humming to himself while he twirled around.

"It's rude to leave a lady all alone, you know!" he said once he finally stopped. 

Bruce rolled his eyes and slammed the elevator's up button. "You're no lady, Joker."

The faint gasp of offense only just reached Bruce's ears.

"How rude," Joker exhaled teasingly. He watched as the door closed and as Bruce leaned over the railing.

"Will I get a call from you?" Joker swooned in the tone of the girl in a cheesy romantic comedy. 

Bruce jerked as the elevator started moving slowly upwards. "Nope," he called down.

"I'm starting to see why you're Gotham's most eligible bachelor!" Joker scoffed. "And it is not because of your charming manners."

Bruce only let himself laugh when he got upstairs.

\-----

A press conference.

There were many parts of Bruce Wayne's life that he despised; one of which was the constant need to wear a suit. Not only were they uncomfortable, but they also made terrible clothing for fights. It wasn't as though he had ever gotten into any fights as Wayne, but in case the problem were to arise it would be difficult to deal with in wingtips.

Despite all of the problems he might have had with formal attire - Alfred had told him off many a time for complaining about this - none of those could possibly measure up to his loathing of public speaking.

He hadn't intended to be in any as of late. With a schedule completely clear of any sort of meetings or charities anytime soon, Bruce had been allowing himself a bit of downtime to work on the case at Wayne Enterprises as well.

The press didn't feel the same way, as it seemed.

Reporters were crawling up and down the street as he pulled up off the block. None of the people loitering by the building looked particularly odd, but after so long of hiding in the shadows and training to spot out fake identities, it wasn't long before Bruce was able to identify at _least_ twenty of them to be reporters.

As unsurprised as Bruce was about this, it did not hinder any repulsion towards the idea of facing them. For a split second he considered heading back to the mansion. A nice cup of tea with the Joker sounded almost pleasant compared to the slimy hands of too curious journalists.

However, Bruce caved in. He slumped back against his seat and groaned against the headache once again rising to the surface. To think he'd assumed he left that in the cave.

The moment he stepped out of the vehicle was a disaster.

Bruce had been in fights against dozens of trained warriors in the past. He had taken down each and every one of them the moment they had jumped down from whatever rafters they had been hiding in like it was another day at the office.

This was nothing like that.

The telltale sound of his car locking was completely overpowered by the rumble of words shot at him from every angle. Bruce held off the urge to raise a hand over his face when the camera was brought out and instead forced his best smiles while he creeped towards the building.

"Mr. Wayne, Mr. Wayne! Is it true that you were close with Albert Cunningham?"

"Is the victim's family being supported?"

"What are you doing to fix this problem, Wayne?"

Bruce shuffled through a patch of the people pressing into his sides. A camera flash sent his eyes blurry and the poke of a sound mic caused his shoulders to hike up to neck level. Agitation settled deep into Bruce's mannerisms, though he did his best to keep a placating face.

"Uh, over here, Mr. Wayne! Has Cunningham's death..."

"...your business? The people of Gotham need to..."

"Does this have anything to do with the local murders?"

Bruce bit down a nasty snarl as his toe hit the steps leading up to the front doors. He couldn't even see the entrance over the herd of busybodies crowding his way. More questions flying at him, Bruce pushed the reporters out of his way to stand up on the topmost stair and spread out his arms. Almost immediately cameras were on him and microphones were pressed to his face.

"Look, everyone," he began with the best smile he could muster," I'd love to answer your questions, but as of right now I have important business to attend-"

"Are you avoiding the questions?" shouted someone from behind.

A tirade of yelling came up from that, and Bruce raised his hands up in a gesture for everyone to settle down. The constant blabber of the local news channels reporting "live at Wayne Enterprises" droned on endlessly in the background. 

A nap would be nice. He hadn't taken one lately. Maybe once he got upstairs he would lock the office doors, kick his feet up and set an alarm for two hours. That could be nice.

"I've heard that you had plans of taking over Arkham!"

Bruce started up once again. He felt a strain go through him as he twisted to find the voice that had sent silence to all of the others. It didn't take long. She had always stood out amongst the rest.

A smile almost crossed Bruce. Bitter and slightly resentful, maybe, but a smile nonetheless.

"I've also heard that you were recently shut down due to Cunningham's death." 

A smile that could tear down near any man flashed at him. Bruce had to admit: he would be damned if she wasn't good.

Bruce looked at Vicky Vale with a cold stare he tended to reserve for the villains he fought in the street. She only raised a defiant look to his deadly silence. She didn't need to ask for his confirmation. Both of them already knew the answer.

"That information is not yet for public use," he grit out, shooting a grin to the cameras.

Photos flashed in an instant; a perfect image for the press to work with. There was no doubt that it would be front cover news tomorrow.

Once more the questions were flying at him with impeccable force. Bruce stood his ground and tried his best to look at every person yelling, but eventually the words became so jumbled that he could only find the one person _not_ talking.

Vale stood by the sidelines twirling her pen. She had that frustrating smile that screamed that she knew more than anyone else did. The best reporter in Gotham was on top once again, and she knew it. Regretfully, so did Bruce.

Someone grasped his coat cuffs and snapped Bruce back to the crowd before him. He met eyes with the man that had - quite literally - grabbed for his attention, and tugged away.

"Dale Harbaker, Daily Gotham," continued he anyhow. "What did you plan to do with Arkham? Were you going to shut it down once and for all?"

"No," Bruce answered without much thought about it. His lawyers were going to kill him. "Destroying Arkham is not in my foreseeable future."

The noises of pens scratching on paper only added to the list of annoyances Bruce put on the list for reasons to hate public speaking.

"Sir, will there be a press conference to discuss these plans?"

Bruce waved his hand in the air dismissively towards that, and he looked over the reporters. Then he looked to where Vale had been, smug smile on her face, and then to the empty pavement where she had been standing.

The press was all over this by now. Keeping it secret so that no one could take over was no longer an option, and all because one woman was able to prod his weak points. 

"Arkham Asylum was to be renovated into a more stable and secure facility for the sick who are put inside," Bruce said. 

He looked into the live camera broadcasting all over Gotham. Somewhere out there board was watching this and damning him on the spot.

"The people put inside of Arkham are no better than they have ever been. The halls are musty, the equipment is old, and the doctors let their patients run amok. With the correct management and a steady hand to correct these problems, I believe that Arkham could become the world renowned care facility we had set it up to be all those years ago."

"Mr. Wayne! Are you saying that you would like to refurbish Arkham completely?"

Bruce swallowed. He looked over everyone's praying eyes in that way that politicians always seemed to do on television before giving their response to something. He wondered if it helped to make him seem less strained.

"A secure Arkham would mean safety for not only the patients inside," he started,"but also for the citizens outside."

Bruce did his best not to run his palms over his slacks. He stood taller and blinked, giving himself a moment to breathe. The words that would tie the knot on this deal. The words that would have his lawyers lunging for his throat. Bruce exhaled.

"I will be buying Arkham Asylum and carrying out with the plans to renovate sometime in the near future."

The noise felt like being clobbered with Penguin's cane over the head five times per second. His headache blared with the outburst, and Bruce finally allowed himself to raise a hand against the flashes.

"That is all I will be answering today!" he ducked and smiled. "Thank you for your time!" 

Being as casual as he could, Bruce leapt towards the entrance and pushed inside where security stopped the entourage of newscast.

The thought of his quiet office never sounded so sweet.

\----

 _Incoming Message_.

The laptop dinged and a small notification banner came out. Bruce looked over at it from where he was typing on his other computer.

He owned two laptops. One belonged to Bruce Wayne. It worked for responding to company emails, files, and meeting schedules. For the most part, he barely touched it. Alfred used it to make arrangements and answer to questions Bruce was too busy to get to.

Then there was Batman's computer.

It was an advanced model of most any laptop there was out there. Lucius had created it as a project for the company a long while back, but the technology never went into production. Scanners, facial recognition, blood smears and the like were all placed into it; a mini version of the computer back home. 

The notification dinged as a subtle reminder it was still there. Bruce stared down at his bag and at the laptop as though it were going to implode at any given moment.

It wasn't an odd thought. After all, with his life, it could happen.

Having stared at it for long enough, Bruce removed it from the sack and switched it out for the Wayne one.

Whoever was sending him something must have known the existence of the computer. Only about two people were aware of that fact. He was one of them.

Bruce flipped it open and glared at the screen. Near the bottom was a red dot to indicate whatever had been sent to him. He looked out of the glass wall behind him. A tingle went up his spine at the thought of someone watching him open whatever file was in there.

He got up and moved to the opposite corner of the room and away from the window's view. He crouched down on the floor so that he could both see out and pay attention to whatever he was about to view. Sighing, Bruce opened it.

On instinct his eyes trailed to the sender. The natural need to tense for a shock ran through him. His fingers curled into a fist while his other hand scrolled to the top.

_Bruce Wayne_

Bruce did a double take. His eyes bore into his own name as though that would break whatever acid trip he had somehow put himself under.

He hadn't sent himself anything recently; certainly not whatever this link was supposed to go to. The only way that he could have possibly done that was if he were at the Bat cave. That, or Alfred had decided to send him something out of the blue. He _had_ told Bruce that he had had something for him.

He wasn't in the cave, though.

The tidal wave of near nauseous anger sent Bruce slamming the computer shut. He closed his eyes and pressed his palms into them and slid down to lie on the floor.

"Fuck," he murmured.

\-----

The Joker was spinning in that same chair from earlier that morning.

He must have moved around some. A few of the objects around the cave that Bruce did not care about had been rearranged to a more accessible spot. At some point he must've gotten bored with simply moving them, seeing as a stack of folding chairs were stacked on top of eachother in the form of a throne.

Bruce tugged his tie and threw it at the pile. He practically tore the jacket off of himself as he stormed up the stairs and onto the main computer deck.

"What the hell did you do?" Bruce demanded.

He walked right passed the Joker - who promptly stopped his spinning to stare at Bruce, although his head wobbled a bit first - and up to the monitor. He checked over everything for any broken screens or keys, then began swiping recklessly over his files for boggled information.

"Bats!" exclaimed Joker with a newfound grin plastered on himself. "What's got you in such a fuss, big man?"

"Do _not_ call me 'big man.'"

"Well, that can't be the problem. I only just called you that."

Bruce snarled under his breath and stopped to send an icy glare over his shoulder. Joker had slumped back in the chair with his leg over the armrest, and he smiled when Bruce looked back at him.

"C'mon, don't be like that! Communication is the best way to strengthen a relationship, batsy," Joker spurred on. "Harley told me that, y'know. Sometimes I forget that she's all smart in that kind of stuff."

"What did you change?"

At this, Joker went quiet. Bruce spun around to see the blank stare he was receiving, but didn't take a moment to consider it.

"I know this file back and forth, Joker, so don't lie to me. _What did you change?_ "

Joker's eyes widened along with the raise of his brows, and his lips pursed together. He made a sort of whistling sound when he exhaled, and his shoulders hunched up in a half-assed shrug.

"I don't know what you're-"

Joker spluttered when he was sent rolling back in the chair, Bruce's hand fisted into the tshirt collar and pulling his face up close.

It took a moment for either of them to register what was happening in the first place. The only time either of them had been close to one another like they were was in battle - war paint and black capes involved to mask their true faces.

Bruce watched as Joker seemed to take in every inch of his exposed face, his open fist - even the way his unarmed body held Joker down in place. 

He'd would be lying if he had said he wasn't doing the same for Joker. 

"Are you gonna punch me, Bats?" Joker whispered.

Bruce let Joker's shirt up a little, but he couldn't help the low grumble in his throat. Joker came back with a knee jerk giggle.

"You broke a rule," Bruce spat with far less venom than he would have liked there to be. " _What_ did you _change?_ "

Joker's expression screwed up and he tilted it so that his hair flipped over on the side. Under his breath Bruce could see that Joker was repeating something. He was about to ask when Joker suddenly gasped and his limbs swung out on either side of Bruce.

"This is about that thing I sent!" he chirped. An excited beam flared up on his laughing face only to fall into a frown a moment later. "And you didn't watch it."

A pair of hands placed themselves on Bruce's chest. The strength with which Joker pushed him away was not nearly as forceful as Bruce knew there could be, but Bruce fell back anyhow.

Joker huffed and crossed his arms. He ruffled his hair again, then repositioned to his hands on his hips. Bruce narrowed his gaze.

"You send me a random link that could lead to anything at all," Bruce drawled,"and you wanted me to _open it_?"

"No, darling, I wanted you to stare at the letters and decipher the secret code."

"Don't patronise me, Joker. How was- _am_ I supposed to know that it doesn't lead to some bomb's clock that'll blow up the city in five hours?"

With his frown falling down further than Bruce thought possible for a grinning clown, Joker stalked over to the computer. From where it was open to, he began swiping his hand across the keyboard.

Bruce scurried over and stood next to Joker. He watched as Joker deleted the email sent to his laptop, then continued to search around.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked at last.

Joker didn't bother looking at Bruce. He trailed up to the city's cameras and began clicking through the different ones. Colors flashed across his skin, and Bruce watched with a silent question still ringing between them.

"Your news report came up on here," Joker finally began. "Buying Arkham? Bold move, Bat. Planning to hold me in there?"

He didn't turn his head to look at Bruce, but his eyes flicked to the side. Only a second passed where they met eachother's gaze, but each held fire there.

"Anyway, I started thinking when you were talking about how the people aren't safe because the criminals are always breaking out, blah blah blah... and I remembered something."

Joker swiped on the panelling frantically, eyes scanning each picture. Bruce tilted his head and bit his tongue.

"Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?" he snipped, moving so that Joker could see his agitation better.

Joker hummed in a bitter tone before coming to a conclusion. He turned to Bruce, then pointed at the screen in triumph. Following the arm, Bruce took a look at what Joker had brought up.

"Arkham surveillance," he mumbled. "What's your point?"

His voice dripped with disinterest, and he looked back at an amused Joker. A wide, sly grin crossed that unpainted face of his. Any anger he had held was gone and replaced with whatever pride he had dug up. One of his fingers waved in Bruce's face, and Joker tsked him.

"Not just any tapes, Batsy. Look closer."

Joker smiled. His eyes flickered back and forth between Bruce's, and he hopped a bit on the balls of his feet. He clearly wasn't going to give this up until Bruce did something about it.

Heaving a breath, Bruce turned and leaned against the keyboard. He glared against the dark screen of the Arkham cameras. Rain poured down and left little droplets on the dead grass, and storm clouds raged overhead. There was nothing out of the ordinary. There wasn't even an escaping prisoner running through the halls.

A swell in Bruce's throat formed, and his eyes widened. His gaze raced over to the outside cameras again, and he clicked on one.

There was no snow.

"This is..."

"The recording from the week I supposedly escaped from Arkham," Joker finished in a light singing voice.

Bruce scoffed, though he would probably call it more of a surprised laugh. 

"You know Arkham inside and out," he thought out loud.

"Yep," Joker nodded. "So why would I run out in front of one of these cameras?"

They turned to face one another. The running screen of the old Arkham tapes played across their faces. Bruce looked back at the screen.

Someone had replaced Joker's real escape with older footage. Wherever Joker had been taken that day was on the original version - and so was the person who took him. 

All they had to do was find it.

Bruce blinked over to Joker. He let his shoulders slacken, and he looked down at the floor between them. A wince crossed his face, and Bruce shook his head.

"Good work, Joker," he begrudged.

Joker stopped bouncing around, and spun to face Bruce head on. 

"Did-" he stuttered,"Did you just thank me? _The_ Batman, Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Golden Child, The Most Eligible Bachelor-"

"Why do you keep bringing that up?"

"Don't change the subject here, darling. You just thanked me," Joker snickered, wiggling a bit.

Bruce rolled his eyes while Joker began to create what appeared to be his 'Batman thanked me' song.

He trailed back to the computer and leaned on the keypad. Behind him, Joker danced and sang a terribly written song. Bruce chanced to look at the clown just as there was a pause in what he assumed was the chorus. Joker stopped his skittish dancing to smile at Bruce again. 

Maybe working alongside him wouldn't be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if they seemed a bit ooc during the part with the question game, and I hope you all can vibe with my picky J idea


	9. Think/Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker isn't the best at helping with breakdowns. He has taken dance lessons, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really read over this, so...
> 
> Tell me if there's any major mishaps and I will do my best to fix them (:
> 
> If you're able to figure out my reference to Gotham, make sure to comment!! also ily for it

Gotham was becoming colder by the day.

Weather reports have begun to advise citizens to stay indoors as much as possible. The chill in the air was enough to give one frostbite within minutes of exposure. Ice covered every inch of the sidewalks and rooftops; a danger for anyone walking along them.

The threat of a looming storm hung over the city like a plague. Gray skies filled with millions of snowflakes darkened the gloomy sights even more than they tended to be. The prospects for anything in the next week or two seemed grim. 

"Damn," Bruce heard behind him. "You think going out tonight is a good idea, Bats? Looks pretty nasty out there."

He turned to look over his shoulder. Joker folded down the paper to wink back, but the action only made Bruce bristle.

"It'll be _fine_ ," Bruce snapped back. 

He took to the data before him once more, though it was pointless and he knew it. The files had been looked over more times than he could count, but nothing had come up at all. Even the folders on Miles and Marcus were becoming dry in their - albeit small - leads. 

Joker whistled. The sound of his feet dragging as he stalked up the stairs served Bruce to grumble, but he didn't bother to tell Joker off.

"Someone's pissy today," Joker observed. "What's got your bat panties in a bunch?"

Joker settled down next to Bruce in what he had designated early on as his chair. His hands squished his face as he peered down at the holographic table.

Bruce tilted his head to glower at Joker. The only reaction he received was a half glance, but he took whatever he got. Bruce sighed. He crossed his arms and sat back, then dragged a hand down his face.

"There's nothing here," he admitted.

Whoever had wiped the video surveillance had done it well. It wasn't as though Bruce hadn't reconfigured something alike to this before. He knew what to look for and how to collect the missing data again. Yet, somehow, this person seemed to have known more about the security inside of Arkham better than Bruce, for he hadn't been able to retrieve even a bit of the scrubbed data.

Joker clicked his tongue and pulled his knees up to his chest. While he did this he reached hesitantly out towards the files, but when Bruce didn't object, slid them back towards himself.

"Sounds like you could use a second opinion there, sweetcheeks."

"Don't call me sweetcheeks."

Joker giggled and flicked open the first one. He nodded. "Whatever you say," he purred. "Honeybunch."

" _Stop._ "

Almost quietly Joker broke into a fit of laughter, but Bruce could tell he was more focused on the task at hand. He was being allowed into the mystery at long last. If there was anything that could catch Joker's attention, it was a puzzle.

Odd how Bruce had never seen how alike they were in that sense.

"Say, Batsy," Joker piped up after some time of flipping back and forth through Marcus' case. 

Bruce, far too wrapped up in slowing down the Arkham footage, only hummed a quizzical response. 

"This fancy gala you're hosting," Joker blabbered on once hearing Bruce's go ahead. "Any chance I can accompany you? I'm a fantastic dancer, after all, and-"

"What are you talking about?" Bruce interrupted.

The momentary frusteration that egged at the disruption dissipated the second Joker looked up from his own work. He laughed under his breath, but the almost nervous falter in it came off with the wrong intention.

Bruce's sharp gaze had twisted directly towards him. His hands were ghostly white from being curled up, and his brow was knit together so tightly that Joker was certain it would result in a nasty headache later on.

"A clown can't take dance lessons?" he joked.

His hopes that the tension that held Bruce at a stand still would go away were demolished the moment Bruce growled.

If it weren't for the electricity behind those bright blues, Joker would have been excited to see his Bats all riled up.

"Deep breaths, darling, it's nothing to get caught up on," babbled Joker. 

He rolled his chair over to the discarded newspaper he had been reading and waved it in the air for Bruce to take. Bruce, on his part, only eyed it with an ever darkening gaze.

Joker scoffed. He batted Bruce on the nose with it - for once he refrained from giggling at the look Bats gave - and slapped it open to the front page.

"It won't bite you," he pointed out. "Yesterday's little speech about taking Arkham got you on the front page. I'd thought you'd have known."

At this Bruce slumped down. His palms flattened on the desk projector, and he towered over the paper. He had been too busy all night and morning to check any social media coverage. 

Vale's name scrawled out before him only made his heart beat faster. Blood boiled beneath the surface as he ground his teeth together.

The paper creased under Bruce's tightening grasp. Any more of it would have ripped it in half entirely, but he forced himself to take a steadying breath. 

He just had to open his mouth, didn't he? For someone who isn't particularly fond of speaking, he made a fantastic job at saying far too much. 

The last few lines were burned into his brain as he read it over. Bruce pressed his palm onto the table, then glanced towards Joker.

**_What are Wayne's true intentions with this? Why go after this opportunity now? Most importantly, does this in any way correspond with the death of employee Albert Cunningham? All questions will be answered at the Arkham Project Charity Gala where Wayne will provide the closure the citizens of Gotham need._ **

"So..." Joker pursed his lips. "Is that a yes on being your date? Your answer was a tad vague."

For what seemed like an infinite moment of time Bruce only stood completely slack and stared at Joker. If there was ever a time where getting smashed over the head with a brick was to be considered, Joker was certain it would have been a less painful option than sitting like an absolute fool under Bruce's brooding.

Bruce rolled up the newspaper without breaking away from Joker for even a second. He stalked towards the prone Joker and dropped it back into his lap. 

Joker caught it with fumbling hands. He smiled up at Bruce in the same way he did when the Batman had him pinned. The pure exhilaration of seeing the whole daunting expression on that chiseled jaw was more than anything he could have ever asked for.

"How'd you get this?" Bruce snarled, though he remained under a level headedness only Batman could pull off.

Joker's smile dropped. In its place turned a bewildered - though intrigued - frown. He tilted his chin up all the way up, and he shrugged.

"That Nickelworth guy. The butler." 

Joker wiggled more; anticipating something he knew was about to come. It only made Bruce more enraged. Of course he was playing with him. What else would Joker be doing?

"His name isn't..." Bruce begin, but stopped himself short. He inhaled. "He doesn't come down here. Try again."

The tiniest snicker of interest made its way between them. A mischievous - dangerous - smile stretched across Joker, and he practically purred wagging his finger.

"Au contraire, my dearest Bats. He's come to visit me nearly every day ever since I took residence in this lovely home." He grinned wider. "Took my blood for safe keeping, too."

 _That_ got a rise out of Bruce. The electricity from earlier came back, but from up close Joker could see the fire it sparked deep inside. His gasp was taken over by the automatic laugh he spouted when Bruce lunged for his shirt collar.

 _Finally_ ; he thought he'd never get the guy to snap.

Fortunately, the one advantage of wearing raggedy old t-shirts was that there was no tie nor lapels for Bruce to fully grasp on to. 

Taking advantage of this, Joker slipped out of Bruce's fingertips easier than he would have imagined it to be, then slid off of the chair and between Bruce's legs. He scrambled up when he heard the grumble behind him, but the giggling ache in his diaphragm was making the task a bit awkward.

Directly on his tail, Bruce leapt over the table to meet Joker crawling underneath it. Quick to calculate a new position, Joker dove in the opposite direction and fled.

The chase led down to the main level of the cave after Joker took a running leap down the stairs and hopped up onto their shared breakfast table.

"Yoohoo! Over here, handsome!" Joker catcalled.

Joker gasped and rolled to the floor just as Bruce's hand snaked around his boney ankle. The floor came at the both of them fast when they toppled to the hard stone. Each hit it with an offending grunt, although Joker's ended in a snort.

"You-" Joker panted. He twisted out of Bruce's hold and scooted back,"you should really put some carpeting in here, darling."

Bruce rose to his knees, but he shot forward faster than should have been possible for someone who just got the wind knocked out of them. Including the still injured knee, it was fairly impressive.

Joker made a surprised whoop and turned to get back up for another round of run around the cave. 

"Joker, stop this," Bruce ordered through laboured breaths. His stitches pulled, but stayed firm. "There's no point."

"Of course there is! You just have to figure it out. Shouldn't be so hard, being a big smarty pants like you."

Joker yelped and fled to the level below the main cave. He hid behind an old work bench, staring at Bruce not far from his position. 

"You're losing your touch, dearest. Getting old?"

Bruce's expression turned to one of pure disdain. "Will you just shut _up_?"

He moved his leg out to turn right, but turned the opposite direction in time to grasp Joker's shoulders. Giddy laughter huffed out of the clown when he was slammed back down onto the hard ground. The familiar weight of Bruce's rough hold was enough to make Joker feel like flying.

"Getting tired of me, Bats?" he jabbed through his fit.

Bruce pressed Joker's shoulders down further just the same as he would when interrogating someone. Neither thought much of how he let up on the previously dislocated one.

"Try to escape one more time-"

"Have you figured it out yet?" Joker sped through. He gasped and pinched his lips into a line.

Bruce kept himself over Joker, expression shifting to one of confusion. However, his grasp released somewhat, and he felt himself melt into a more lax position.

"What are you-"

"I hadn't mean to interrupt you, I just- Ah, no, I did it again! My bad. Please, continue."

Bruce breathed in, then exhaled. He waited for Joker to continue rambling, but only received a sniff and what he assumed was Joker steeling himself into a mockery of standing at attention.

"Why the hell did you run?" he asked. Genuine curiosity mixed with the exhaustion layered in his voice.

Joker puckered his lips at this. "So you _didn't_ figure it out."

Bruce rolled his eyes and fell back to sit next to Joker. He dragged a hand down his face. Next to him he heard an amused snicker.

"You don't think when you're fighting."

Placing his elbows on his knees, Bruce tilted his head and sighed. He couldn't tell if Joker was intentionally being difficult, or if that was something that happened to come naturally.

Based off of the look Joker was giving him, Bruce wasn't certain if it was either one.

"What does that mean?" he pushed after realising there would be no more explanation.

Joker clicked his tongue and smirked. "Come on, darling, you can figure this out. I can see those bat brains of your's working again."

He grinned afterwards in that way Bruce was coming to decide was Joker's relaxed expression. It almost bothered Bruce to see it right then.

After all, how could Joker be relaxed? With the murder, and the possible infiltration of Wayne Enterprises, the kidnapping, that whole frozen person attacking him in an alley, and don't even get him started on the gala he was apparently hosting in _two short weeks_ -

Possibly the softness laughter Bruce had ever heard breathed out next to his ear. Joker's brows were raised somewhere between quizzical, and - if Bruce didn't know any better; which he did - something akin to affection.

"Blink, Batsy," advised Joker. "Wouldn't want to dry out those beautiful blues."

Bruce, though he would deny it to ever be described as such, practically croaked in an attempt to put together his thoughts. 

Joker, on his part, seemed very inclined to this. He nodded and squinted as though pondering this, and he stroked his chin.

"Mhm, mhm. I see what you're saying here, darling, but I'm not quite sure you-"

"A _distraction_?"

Joker's jaw came shut with the clack. He nodded once, then stretched his mouth into an unconvincing smile.

"I'm sensing… anger," he said.

"Wha- are you _serious?_ We have work to do, and you're messing around?" 

Upon Joker wriggling again, Bruce shook his head, then began to take a turn up and away from where they sat.

"I have work to do," he mumbled.

Pushing himself to a better position, Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. A heavy sigh pushed out of his nose. He turned to glance back once more.

Joker placed his arms around his legs, head rested on his knees and eyes trained on Bruce's back. When he noticed the movement, they flicked up to rest there.

"You think too much," he stated simply. 

There wasn't a hint of anything when he said it. No irritation, or upset, or even his usual ecstatic mockery that came with the act. 

Bruce sat about as still as he ever had in that second. The position caused his joints to ache in protest, and his eyes just about crossed with the effort of maintaining Joker's unwavering stare, but he remained a statue.

They didn't have time to play games. Distractions were not an option after over a month of looking for Joker and almost a whole one more of searching for absolutely no answers after the fact. They weren't even close, but that was all the more reason as to why Bruce needed to keep working. If they stopped the pace then they might as well have given up on the mystery all together.

The floor squeaked when Bruce's shoes skidded across them. He landed back on the floor unceremoniously back next to Joker. His hands went straight to his face, and he bent over, shoulders shaking.

"Uh…" Joker cleared his throat. "You okay, Bats?"

Joker practically jumped out of his skin when Bruce choked out around his breath. The shaking inhale that followed only made Joker cringe further, and he found that he had the sudden urge to crawl away. 

Oh, and possibly to call Alfred down, as well, because, by all appearances, the Batman was having a mental breakdown right in front of him, and, frankly, someone who called himself the Joker was not the guy to help with that.

The only problem with that plan was that Bruce had lowered his hands, turned, and shot him down with a smile so big he was tempted to say it rivaled his own.

"Can you never shut up?" Bruce glowered, but it was watered down by the beam and the laughter shaking his entire body.

Joker, ripped out of his moment of paralysing shock, shoved Bruce over and cackled when he was rewarded with a kick to the floor next to the Bat himself.

"Only when you stop thinking, darling," he teased.

Bruce snorted again, louder this time, and something inside Joker opened up like it always did when he managed to make the Batman laugh. He turned his head to make another lame but probably crude joke, and…

He stopped.

Joker's smiled remained in place, and he could feel the familiar spasm that came from laughing too hard and for too long, but wasn't focused on that. He was stuck, he thought. _Lost._

Bruce got crows feet in the corners of his eyes when he genuinely smiled. He wasn't even that old, but he had wrinkles in his forehead when he scrunched it up like he was doing right then, and his cheeks rose up next to those award winning dimples that the tabloids seemed to adore.

Battle wounds from bullets and scratches and knives from the pocket he hadn't seen were easy, Joker knew. After so many fights you learn not to care. It was the stress of the job that created wrinkles around his eyes - permanent reminders of the days gone by where he couldn't save someone, or when he wished he could have done more; of the nightmares endured every time he closed his eyes and couldn't think of anything but the unsolved murder ahead of him; of the sleepless nights and days on end without food dedicated to stopping whatever was about to come down upon Gotham as though he held the city's fate on his shoulders alone.

Joker liked to make Batman laugh for selfish reasons. Everything Joker did was for selfish reasons. Bruce never got time to smile, and laugh, and take time to distract himself for ten measly minutes because to him ten minutes was time he could have spent saving someone from having their purse stolen.

He was never selfish. Not even when it came to his own well being. It showed when he smiled.

Joker swallowed down the weight in his chest.

Bruce exhaled a few steadying breaths. He sniffed, and he looked over, realizing Joker hadn't said a word in far longer than usual. His eyebrows pulled when he found Joker staring.

"Jay?" he asked, not catching himself when the name came out of his mouth. He found he didn't much care.

Joker somewhat flinched away, but caught himself and grinned again. He giggled, and jabbed Bruce between the ribs before whatever questions arising could be looked further into.

"You called me Jay," he sang, shoulders wiggling. 

Bruce, now looking like he very much regretted everything that happened in the last twenty minutes, sat up and rubbed his scruff.

"Stop."

"You like me-"

"No," Bruce cut in. "This was not because I like you. This was something that will never happen again. Got it?"

Joker nodded his affirmative and saluted Bruce, but got no response out of it. He took no offense. When Bruce offered a hand to help him up, he felt that weight burrow itself within the spot between his ribcage.

Without a word, Bruce left.

Joker picked up a file. He began reading. 

He had a good feeling about the next few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's a bit ooc but I tried


	10. A Little Bird Told Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman takes on a new job, and a new puzzle piece comes into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for excessive cursing

There was a possibility that Joker had been right about going out.

Fresh snow was already covering up the brown sludge previously pushed up against the streets. Salting the sidewalks and roads proved fruitless. Even his armour was being coated.

Batman hooked up to one of the radio towers and leaned up against the bars. He squinted. The frequency on his com was going haywire in this area, but he couldn't quite find where he was picking it up.

Someone was blocking whatever they were saying. Moving around with some sort of disruptor was Batman's guess. He wouldn't doubt that the snow was part of the problem. 

Batman had run in to the same situation many times before. He wasn't too worried. All he had to do was track the signal.

Alfred tended to give him help. A deep heat kindled in Bruce at the thought of talking with him yet. He was out of the question until Bruce could figure out what was going on in the cave. 

However, Bruce's time with Joker had taken up more time than he had thought. By the time he'd gotten back upstairs Alfred had been preparing for supper. Years of knowing the man made it clear that there was no point iin disrupting the process. That was unless Brucr felt like getting smacked over the head with an oven mitt. 

It didn't matter. Bruce needed time to clear his head first. Although he might have been off about completely distracting Bruce, Joker had had the right idea. His thoughts were clouded by emotions, and it was making it difficult to work.

As another point, Joker had also been right about how Bruce was calm during a job.

That lead him back to searching for whoever was doing their best to hide.

Experience taught Batman that anyone covering something up was most likely up to something worth looking in to.

The static was strongest near the tower itself, but it was barely picking up the voices. Blips were coming through, at the very most.

Batman sighed, and scratched at the forming beard along his chin. Although all instincts in his body told him not to, he formed the data pad on his forearm and went into communications.

"Joker?"

Bruce heard a gasp on the either side, and Joker rolled over to him on the spinning chair. 

"Miss me already, darling?" Joker came through.

"My mama said you wouldn't call me back, but I told her that you're a gentleman, Batsy, yes sir, I did," he continued. Bruce could practically see Joker fanning himself dramatically."A fine young thing. Quite the specimen. Nice ass, too-"

"That's enough," Bruce cut in, voice gruff. "I need you to do something for me."

Joker giggled. "And what could I possibly do for you, handsome?"

Batman curled his hand around the bars at the nickname, and his stomach twisted into a knot. 

"Tap into all radio receivers in my current location, and find out where they're coming from," he said in a strain to get on with this. "In order to do that you have to go into the data base for the Diamond District. Use a radius of tw-"

"Take a breath, Bats. I've done this before. Remember?"

Batman relaxed his grip, and he nodded to himself. He muttered an agreement, not entirely certain if Joker even heard it. A tiny hum told Bruce that he had.

Not wanting to wait any longer, Batman brought up his own devices to scan the area for anything else. He switched through the channel waves while crouching across the tower.

"What's taking you so long?" he muttered when a high pitched ring went through his ears. 

"Precision requires patience, dear. Also..." Joker trailed off,"I don't know what I'm looking for."

Bruce curled his lips back. "You don't need to. Just send it to me, and I'll find out which one is what I'm looking for."

Joker paused, and Bruce could tell he had stopped looking all together. He frowned.

"This would go far faster if you'd tell me, you know."

Closing his eyes, Bruce pushed down the frusteration building up in his chest. He exhaled through his nose, and cracked his jaw.

"Look, sweetcheeks, before you say anything else, hear me out: you've already trusted me with looking over case files, and working your precious Bat Computer. Correct? So just tell me what to look for, and..."

" _And_ we're wasting time." 

Joker clicked his tongue. "Precisely."

Batman latched on to the tower with one of his hooks, and he soared off to where the noise had been only seconds ago. It was fading. The snow was getting heavier as well. Waiting any more would guarantee their escape.

"Start looking while I talk," Batman gave in. Joker giggled. 

"The GCPD put out a call for backup in this area, but the radio went dark not long after. Whoever it is being tracked is doing something to mask their location, and block out any police receivers."

Joker chuckled, then popped his lips. "You sure know how to pick the complicated ones."

A loud crackle replaced the second com in Bruce's ear. He went to turn it off, but Joker's noise of disapproval came through before he got to it.

"Not yet, darling. I'm patching through your new friends."

Bruce didn't have a second to reply until he could hear the distorted sound of voices. He pinched his lips together.

"They're hiding near the sewer, from what I can see. At least I assume that circle on the map is a sewer. You should really look into labeling some of these, Bats."

Bruce switched off his connection to Joker without reply. He didn't have time to chat.

He leapt off and swung out his cape, soaring down to the fire escape on a nearby building. He hung over to look down at the manhole below, and zoomed in on the area with detective mode.

Around the corner he could see the faint outline of about four men. The snow glitched out his sight some, so he turned it off. He could take them without it.

Using the sequence Joker had uploaded to him, Bruce broke through the distortion. He pushed across the buildings to shimmy over top of them, but remained in the cover of the shadows.

"Are you sure this is the right spot?" one of them hissed. "The boss won't like it if we got the wrong spot-"

"Shut up, dumbass," someone replied over the com. "Just go down already. Jesus."

The group shuffled towards the manhole cover. Batman watched the outside men sling shotguns over their shoulders and point it down while the one talking reached down to open it.

"Damn, it's cold. You'd think he'd've told us to bring jackets or somethin'," mumbled a security guy. 

The other shoved him. "Not our fault you're a fucking idiot."

"Ay, keep it down, will you? Someone could hear you."

"Like who? The police? Tch."

The cover slid off and they all kicked it to the side. Batman blinked, and he looked in to see further down into the sewer. 

The four did the same, but pointed their weapons down. The one who was originally talking reached up to his ear and tapped a button.

"What now? Just drop it down?" he asked, and sneered when one of the others nearly tripped in. "Idiot."

Bruce's ear buzzed to indicate the other replying. The secondary voice crackled, then spoke:

"I told you already. Just go down there."

The four glanced at eachother, then looked down the hole. Another one chuckled nervously. He connected with his own com.

"You sure it's safe, Ronny? Looks pretty sketchy."

Ronny groaned, and Bruce heard him smack whatever table was in front of him. "Yes, it's safe. Our lines are covered by a disruptor, so no one knows you're there."

The others scratched their heads and shifted back and forth. The main guy nodded. He grabbed the second talker by the collar and pushed him towards it.

"You first," he ordered.

"Don't be a pussy, Dan," said another. 

Batman exhaled, and he shook his head. They weren't experienced; that was for certain. Whoever had hired them needed new people. If they even knew what they were doing, it was doubtful they would give it up over the com.

"Whatever, man," Dan muttered, and he smacked the others away. He plopped down near the hole and put his leg onto the first step.

This would take a while.

Giving up on waiting, Batman removed his claw from the utility belt and pulled Dan away from the sewer. The other hand dropped a smoke pellet around the others.

"It's the Bat!" shouted the first one; probably to Ronny.

Batman dropped down and kicked Dan down. He smashed his skull into the ground to make sure he wouldn't be getting back up again.

The smoke started to dissipate. He knelt down and sprinted to the nearest guy. The distant sound of more swearing rang in Bruce's head while he disarmed the guy and knocked him with the butt of the weapon.

"Sonova bitch, don't let him hit you, you idiot!" 

A foot to his back made Batman stumble, but he recovered fast enough to spin and grab their leg before it fell. They squeaked, and twisted at the same time as Batman flipped them upwards. They hopped back up and swung, but Batman ducked only to ram into the main man cowering behind them. 

The two fell into a nearby snowbank. Batman pushed off of him and swung his leg out to take down the person behind him. He spun around and landed leapt up, then landed back down on them with a final crack.

"Wait, god damn it!" the last guy shouted. He threw his weapons to the side when Batman approached him, and his hands went shaking into the air. "I won't fight you, alright? Don't hurt m-"

He choked and kicked off the wall Batman pinned him up on. His hands grasped lamely at the fist around his throat, but the razors on the gauntlets only became more dangerous to each movement.

"What will I find if I go down there?" Batman snarled, lips curling back.

"Nothing! Nothing at all, okay! I swear, there's nothing down there."

He coughed and gasped out when Batman's fingers tightened. He whimpered. A sneer pushed on Batman's expression.

"It's a dropoff! We- We're dropping off a product. That's all. That guy over there, with the, uh, the- the big nose, he has a satchel with the stuff."

Batman slid his hand down, ignoring the spluttering of the man, and took him by the shirt. He picked him up from the ground and dragged him over to an unconscious Dan. 

"Yeah, yeah, that's him! You, uh- um, you don't need me any more, right? You can let me go?"

"Shut up," Batman said, and he put the man face down in the snow.

There was a satchel on Dan. Bruce knelt over the awake guy, but it seemed that the threat of his mere existence was enough to keep him down. 

A scanner pad showed up on his palm. Batman went over the satchel with it, but nothing technologically important came up. Explosives, knives, or more guns were out of the question. 

"See?" whimpered the man Batman sat over. "I told you! Nice and safe. Just drugs."

Bruce raised a brow, and he frowned. He opened it. Statues of angels were packed to the top inside. He removed one, inspecting the outside, then turned and smashed it on the ground. 

Just as said, bags of drugs were packed inside. Bruce picked one up, and bounced it in his hand. It was powder, but there was a syringe in it filled with what he assumed was a liquid version. 

A mini label was on the bottom of the bag. Bruce turned it and squinted. His lips pressed into a thin line.

_TPN_

"I've never seen this before," he said, turning to the man below him.

He gulped, and turned in the snow to look up at Batman. "Yeah, it's a new product. Been pretty popular lately. Gives a damn good buzz, from what I hear."

Batman humphed, and he got off of him to instead kneel next to him. He glanced down in time to read what appeared to be a sequence of numbers on their clothing, but wasn't able to read it properly.

"Who's your supplier?" Batman demanded.

The man stared blankly at him. He squirmed under Batman's intense glare, but continued to stay silent. The scream he gave out was loud enough to wake anyone within the next two blocks.

Batman held him above the opened manhole. He loosened his grip just enough to make the man squeak.

" _Your supplier._ "

"Penguin," babbled the man. He glanced below him and cried out, fingers holding on to Batman desperately. 

Bruce narrowed his gaze on the man, though he knew they couldn't see it. He shook him a bit.

"This isn't Penguin's territory," he stated.

"He's trying to expand, or somethin. I don't know, okay. I'm just the drop off monkey! Now will you please get me out of this thing?"

Bruce held him for a second more, then tossed him over somewhere. He didn't mention anything else before swinging up to the rooftop and jumping away.

If Penguin was involved he should have known it; especially if it had to do with the expansion of territory. Whatever it was he was doing, it had been going on for a while already.

At the same time as he was glad to have something else to focus on, Bruce couldn't help but feel a pain pressing down inside of him.

He needed to take his mind off of the Wayne-Joker case. That much had become apparent. Taking on a new problem may have been the best course of action, but somehow the idea of taking himself away from the first case struck a chord of anxiety in Bruce.

Grumbling, he brought up the pad. 

"Jay?" Bruce said, and cursed at how soft it came out.

"You're not gonna hang up on me again, are you, Bats?" Joker asked, and Bruce smirked, but wiped it off directly after.

"I have to go see Penguin," he answered and grunted as he rolled across to another building.

"Ooh! Say hey to the old boy, will ya? We didn't exactly get off on good terms last time. Heh."

Bruce mumbled under his breath. He stopped for a second to talk. Placing one hand on his hip, he looked around to make sure no one was watching.

"Do you ever leave of good terms with anyone?" 

"Touché, my dear," Joker giggled. "What business do you have with Pengy then?"

Bruce dropped down into a crouch once he figured it to be safe. The Iceberg Lounge was open all night, and it was only eleven. He had a moment to discuss and rest up.

He opened his palm and watched snowflakes catch on his gloves. Some stuck while others dissolved on impact. He watched with mild interest.

"He's expanding his territory through some new drug," he explained, then only realised he'd said it after it came out.

Even Joker seemed shocked by the sudden openness, if the radio silence was to say anything about it. Bruce waited patiently for any response at all, but wasn't too keen on saying anything more himself.

"Er," Joker whispered, and Bruce felt almost as though he weren't meant to hear it. Laughter took it over right away, but he could hear the hesitant undertone to it.

"Getting pushy, is he?" snorted Joker. "That's funny, considering how he shot me over the suggestion once."

Bruce's fingers twitched, but he didn't think much of it. "Suggestion, huh?"

Joker huffed out a few more giggles, though this time it felt genuine. The dangerous edge Bruce was becoming less used to hearing was back. For a second his instincts kicked in, and his body tensed for attack.

"You know me well, darling," was all Joker said. 

Bruce let down some. He sighed in an attempt to come off as irritated, but both of them could tell it wasn't quite there.

"Says here a blizzard is supposed to hit at midnight," Joker pointed out suddenly. "Maybe you should come back for tonight. The old bird should still be alive tomorrow."

"You're very adamant about my return tonight. Worried, Joker?" Bruce tried at a tease.

It must have hit. Joker grumbled, and an agitated snort rang through the com. "Careful, Bats. Keep using that tongue like that and I'll cut it out."

Bruce hummed a lazy disapproval, then shot off to the gargoyle across the street. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"I'm starting to think I prefer the Bat's brooding silence. _No. Yes. Shut up, Joker._ Simple."

Unable to stop himself, Bruce snickered at the fake Batman voice. Regret flooded him instantly. He closed his mouth, moving from building to building across the city in quiet precision.

Joker didn't say a word either. Bruce could feel the burning in his stomach that came with immediate remorse, and he could tell Joker was feeling some sort of the same way. Not the exact emotion, perhaps, but it was something that shut the clown up.

What the hell was he doing anyway? He'd known Joker for years - longer than he would have liked - and every time he saw him it was almost never for a good reason.

Joker was a brutal killer. Flamboyant, loud, arrogant, and possibly the worst bastard Bruce had ever met. 

He laughed at the sight of blood. Blew up buildings to get the attention of one man, killed dozens seemingly without an ounce of regret, and found pain to be one of the funniest things out there.

God, he was sick.

Joker blew up buildings to get the attention of one man.

Joker did what he did to get the attention of _Batman_.

Nausea built up in Bruce's gut. If it weren't for years of training he would have doubled over onto the street below. 

"The Lounge is in sight," he offered at last.

He kept his voice level. Joker's tension spoke through the mic more than his voice ever could.

"Righteo, Batman."

Joker clicked off before Bruce got a chance to. He wasn't an idiot by far. Most of what Bruce had on his mind was likely what Joker had been silent about. 

Bruce wouldn't give in to how much the title of Batman had stung.

Shaking himself, Batman landed on one of the towers standing outside of the club. He ducked behind one of the stones for cover.

As per usual, security surrounded the base entrances of the building. Standing there it was difficult to tell whether or not they were armed, but anyone who knew Gotham well enough knew that they were. Heavily, at that. Most simply chose to ignore it.

There was a route in through the ventilation systems above the main bar. It led directly to the basement, but Bruce knew a way out before going down that slope. Penguin would have it guarded, if the last time he snuck in was anything to tell by.

Batman fired his launcher across to the rooftop and tugged when he felt a firm click. He zip lined across and hopped down to a low position before anyone inside could look through the glass rooftop.

Lights shone down below on the stage performer singing. Guests danced and drank in their formal attire, and glasses clattered against one another with each toast. Every one of them appeared blissfully unaware of the interactions that went on inside of the Lounge.

Bruce would probably be down there if it weren't for Batman. Women on his arms; a third scotch in his hand; all of them spending more money in that one night than most Gothamites could afford in their lives.

He looked away, swallowing. It wasn't a bad life. Alfred had always said it was one to be proud of. Heir to the great Thomas and Martha Wayne. What more did he need?

Bruce choked out an unamused snort, and he clipped a grapple to the roof outside of the air vents.

 _Blissfully unaware._ He didn't know what he would ever do without the knowledge of Gotham's truth - to live without the thought that he could do something about the treachery tearing his city apart.

Batman slid down the hook line into the vents as carefully as he could without slipping down. Even with his gloves, the rope burned his palms just enough to start his adrenaline pumping.

If he weren't Batman then he was ninety-nine percent certain that Gotham would be in shambles. Low life thugs and the sickly insane Arkham inmates would rule the streets. Anyone who hadn't made it out to somewhere better would either be dead or dragged into the mess.

Then again, some of the worst of Gotham's villains only came to darkness due to Batman's appearance. If it weren't for him people like Hush wouldn't be around.

The Joker wouldn't.

A dull burn took hold of Bruce's body, and he found himself to be holding his breath against the return of earlier's sickness.

Bruce's feet landed on the surface. The shock of the feeling rattled him out of whatever stupor had gotten into him. 

Iceberg Lounge, he reminded himself. Get to Penguin.

He bent down out of the way and pulled down the hook. He stared it, reflecting on the cool metal looking back at him, then reeled it all in to place in the utility belt.

The music was much louder down there. If it weren't for that, he would have been more cautious about moving. Every dent and pop the vent made was easily covered by the sounds.

Batman turned on detective mode once he turned a corner. All passages in and out of the Lounge had been memorised through different visits between both Batman and Wayne over the years. One more left turn would take him to the hallway entrance of Penguin's office.

Two guards stood outside of the doors, but more would come flooding in the moment Bruce entered the room. The first office was a decoy. Anything of importance was hidden in a seperate one. Depending on the day, Cobblepot could be hidden in either one.

He pushed out the grate opening gently, then set it aside where they wouldn't notice. The moment he appeared would change the pace.

Bruce relaxed himself with a steady inhale. In a flash he shot out and wrapped one of the two in his arms, effectively slamming them into the wall. 

Hands gripped at his shoulders, but Batman was quick to twist and flip the second assailant. Within seconds both were unconscious. Bruce grabbed one of them and dragged their hand up to the identity scanner. It came open just in time for him to hear the footsteps of newcomers.

Batman ducked behind the opened door, then slammed it shut on the nearest guard. While they were incapacitated, he leapt out to beat down a few of the others.

His jaw cracked as someone's knuckles connected with it. Batman swung a batarang towards another advancer whilst knocking the one who hit him to the ground. Four down, but more were coming.

The part where he was hit throbbed. Bruce cracked it, grumbling about the bruise that was to come with it. He got in position for the next fight.

"Alright, that's enough of that, then."

The detail approaching Batman stopped. They put their weapons back where they were previously hidden, but made to glare at Bruce. All hands stayed carefully poised in wait for another attack.

Penguin toed one of the unconscious men onto his stomach, and puffed out a scoff. He shooed away his men.

"Take these lads out, will ya? Don't need their blood on my rug." 

Batman turned his back on the guards. His face fell into a strict frown while one of his hands gripped a batarang. Behind him, the doors snapped shut.

Penguin worked around the large desk to a mini drink cart in the corner. He glanced back at Batman for a split second, then picked up two glasses.

"Now that you're done beatin' on my boys," he said, and grabbed a bottle of high end scotch,"I figure you've got something to say to me."

Each glass was poured with just a sip of the drink. Cobblepot pushed one across the desk towards Batman. Neither took them.

Batman shifted his attention to the coat rack on the other side of the room. A hat hung from one of the topmost rings; the dim lighting made the green almost as dark as the purple ribbon around its middle. He glanced back at Penguin, expression firm.

Penguin huffed. "No need to get worked up. He just left. Gives his best."

Batman grunted in response, not quite believing it. Still, he wasn't worried. Even if Riddler was there, he had no reason to interfere. That wasn't his style. 

"Enough of the chit chat," Cobblepot said. 

The glint of danger in his dark eyes was back. Whatever semblance of buddy buddy he was keeping up was officially out the window. 

"Out with it, Batman," he finalised.

Batman tilted his chin up and stalked towards the desk. Penguin took his own step backwards. His hand slipped back to an umbrella behind him.

Quickly but without any real threat, Batman removed something from his belt. He held it up for Penguin to see, then dropped it on the table between them.

"Your men are sloppy," he rumbled. 

That earned him a beady glare.

"They aren't my men," Cobblepot snarled. "I'm not one to leave a mess."

Batman smirked internally. A rush of satisfaction spiked adrenaline through his veins.

"They said otherwise." Batman took a towering step over the short man, kicking the umbrella away. "What is this?"

"How the hell should I know?" Penguin tutted. He gathered himself, and smiled that businessman grin he had so perfected. "I'm only a simple entrepreneur, Batman."

"Expanding your territory is risky," Batman pushed as Penguin slipped sideways and back towards the drinks. "Even for you. Do you really want to risk a war?"

Cobblepot snickered, and he downed the scotch with a hiss. 

"Are you a businessman?" he asked, pouring more of the alcohol.

Batman kept his mouth shut. Penguin twisted to raise a brow, but continued to get nothing in return. He huffed.

"I'm going to give you my advice for if you ever decide to make a... _steadier_ career change," he started, and handed the second glass to Batman. 

Bruce took it, but didn't drink it. His hand gripped it tightly enough that any more would cause it to shatter.

"To make money, you need to grow your business. To grow your business," Cobblepot took out a cigar,"you have to know the right people."

He stuck it in his mouth and puffed. Smoke billowed up and flooded Batman's lungs. He took to the drugs sitting on the desk.

Penguin picked it up and tossed it at Batman's chest. 

"I suggest you make your way out now, Batman. After all," he paused, voice becoming dark. "I have a club to run."

\----

The pouch was dropped down on the scanner table.

Joker spun around to look at it, and he squealed, descending into a fit of giggles. 

"A present for me? Bats!" he grinned, placing his face in his hands. "You shouldn't have."

Bruce shouldered him off and removed the cowl. He could feel Joker's eyes burning into his back as he ran his fingers through his mussed up hair, but chose to ignore it. 

"Guessing you got the birdy to sing then," Joker said; as though Bruce had responded in the first place. "Always the sweet talker, my Batsy."

"Penguin's pride is his downfall," he uttered in a half response.

Placing his armour in the case where it belonged, Bruce walked back to the table. He didn't spare a glance at the watchful clown. 

"Don't tell me you're still mad at me. I was just trying to help, Bats, you kn-"

"I’m not mad,” Bruce said, meeting Joker’s acidic eyes. "I'm thinking."

Joker sniffed, and he crossed his arms. He hesitated to answer. Bruce could see every piece of that twisted brain working. It was the same way he got when he was coming up with a solid response to an argument.

"What are these? Drugs?" he asked, and twirled over to the bag. He swung it around playfully.

Bruce pinched his brows together. Since when did Joker give up on conversations so easily?

"Does this have anything to do with the case?"

"Er," Bruce fumbled, and looked at Joker quizzically. "No. It's a separate one. Drug ring."

Interested, Joker humphed to himself. His fingers worked to open the bag, but one glare from Bruce made him stop with a pout.

"You're no fun, Bats."

"I've heard," Bruce agreed.

Joker laughed a little at that, but it died off faster than either of them would have liked. Heavy silence filled the gap, and it left them to stare at each other.

Bruce knew he looked disgusting. There was a nasty bruise forming on his chin, as well as a patchy beard that he hadn't shaved in days. His hair was mussed up and sweaty from the suit. The thought that he hadn't even showered only came when he made himself remember.

Joker, on the other hand, looked good. Well, as good as he could. Without any gel in his hair it had become increasingly more curly throughout the month. Though his skin was still an acid washed white, it wasn't coated with dirt or blood anymore.

The fact that both of them were so used to seeing the other covered in crimson made Bruce's heart sink. 

"Do you recognise it?" 

He indicated to the pouch. Joker flipped it over, and his nose scrunched when reading the label.

"TPN?" Joker voiced. "Nah. Must've come out when I was playing hooky."

Bruce's shoulders slumped. He sat back. "Right."

Every inch of him ached in the sudden weight of the night's endeavours. Each punch and kick that had landed seemed to crash down on his muscles at once. He shifted and rolled his shoulders back; as though that would move the pain away.

"You look like you were doubled teamed by Croc and Bane," Joker kid, cracking a smile at him.

Bruce raised his hands to his face. The scruff scratched at his palms, and the waxy feeling of his skin made him shiver.

He still had Alfred to talk with tonight.

Joker's hands wrapped around his wrists, then pulled his arms down. Bruce allowed it, keeping his mouth shut, and let it happen when Joker dragged him up.

"Come on, Bats," he said, tugging at Bruce to follow.

Bruce's lungs shook while he let out a breath. He nodded, eyes closed, then walked a step behind Joker down to the medical bay.

"I need to talk to Alfred still," he stated.

Joker dropped his arm to turn on the shower. The water squeaked then turned on, pelting the ceramic flooring. Bruce held the place where Joker's hand was.

"Trust me, Bats, no one will ever take you seriously when you're like… this," Joker grinned, indicating to Bruce. "Seriously, you smell rancid."

Bruce rolled his eyes, then raised a brow. " _Rancid?_ "

Joker gave a cheeky smile. "I'm _expanding my vocabulary_ ," he spoke in a fake posh accent. "Now come on. Get your sweet ass in there."

Scoffing, Bruce shook his head. He peeled off his shirt. "Shut up, Joker."

"That's my Bat," Joker toyed, giggling at himself.

Bruce flipped him off, and closed the curtain before throwing out the rest of his clothes. Outside, Joker wolf whistled. 

The moment the water hit his back he hissed through his teeth. Bruce placed his hands on the wall in front of him, and put his head down. Brown and red water pooled around his feet, and washed down the drain in swirls.

The heat practically burned off his skin to leave it red and blotchy. He didn't mind much. It almost felt nice compared to the chill of the outside world.

Bruce tried to take a deep breath, but the steam inside made his chest seize up. He puffed out, and scrubbed his face. He would have to shave when he got out.

He could hear Joker whistling outside. He didn't quite recognize the tune - especially with how off pitch it was - but it still made him relax some. The rough pull of his muscles came undone. He noticed he was shaking from the strain.

The last time he had slept was - when? Three days? He and Joker had been looking over the Arkham tapes for the first time.

He _and_ Joker.

Bruce scratched shampoo through his hair and face. The coat of disgust washed out and left him feeling light. He placed his forehead onto the wall and closed his eyes. Sweat dripped down his face.

"Bats?"

He grunted, hoping Joker heard even though he knew it didn't matter. Joker would keep on talking even if Bruce hadn't responded.

"Will you come out here?" he asked; voice much closer now. 

Bruce turned to see Joker's faint outline through the curtain. Some of the paperwork was in his hands. 

"Why?" Bruce mumbled back. His voice was muffled by the humidity clouding his lungs.

Joker appeared to flip around the file and hold it out for Bruce. "I think I know strawberry shortcake here."

" _What?_ "

He didn't wait to turn off the shower before stepping out and wrapping himself in a towel. Joker giggled, and he bit his lip to stop himself.

"Just-" Bruce spat, - thankful that his face was already reddened - and reached his hand out for the file. "Talk."

Joker cleared his throat, and showed him the picture. He wiggled it back and forth in front of Bruce, who took it out of his hand.

"You're sure you know her?" he asked, glaring down at it.

"No," Joker said. It got him a pointed stare. "If I knew that we wouldn't still be here, darling."

"Ngh."

"I know I said I prefer broody Bats, but this isn't the time."

"I'm _thinking_ ," Bruce explained again.

Joker spread his hands out on his chest and frowned. "You treat me so bad, Bats."

Bruce walked passed Joker towards the main computer. Little drops trailed after his every step, but he didn't care to look after it quite yet.

"So…" Joker said, popping up next to him,"who's the lady?"

The screen initiated the bigger file, and Bruce seperated all of the little pieces of information he had on her.

"She goes by Mabel Sacarello," he informed, but was focused enough on the screen that he wasn't certain he'd spoken at all.

Joker popped his lips in confirmation to Bruce. "What's she got to do with this?"

Stopping, Bruce stared at the picture of her long enough to burn his retinas. He bit the inside of his cheek. The resume Mabel had turned in was brought up to the front.

Joker inhaled through his nose. Bruce turned to look at him and found that they were standing far closer than he had originally planned. 

Light accentuated the sharpness of Joker's features. Bruce could see his jawline move while the clown bit his bottom lip.

"She, er," Bruce began to explain. He rubbed his eyes, feeling them drag blearily. "She began working for Wayne Enterprises in the same week that Cunningham died."

Joker barked a laugh, and he grinned at Bruce. "Got a little flare in her, huh? I like it."

Bruce pulled out his chair. Joker followed with his spinning one. They both stared up at Mabel, but each remained deep in thought.

"Where?" Bruce asked suddenly.

Joker didn't seem to need further explanation. "Arkham," he answered. "I think."

Looking at each other, Bruce narrowed his eyes. "You don't know for sure?"

"Don't really see much when you're locked in the loony bin, darling."

Bruce huffed, and looked back at her. He tilted his head, licking his lips, and raised a curious brow.

He grabbed a nearby pen and paper as well as opened up a recording on the screen. Joker watched each movement, and chuckled when Bruce turned to face him. 

"Need a lamp to shine in my face?"

Bruce clicked the pen.

"Talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh here we go!! The mystery has a new piece, and a new one has approached. Where will it be going, I wonder? (:
> 
> I hope you liked my Penguin. I tried really hard to make it so that he never specifically gave himself up because he is, above all, a sneaky little bird
> 
> I'm also making a petition for Bruce to get some damn rest


	11. Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made.

"You have to understand, Mr. Wayne, this was the only option."

Images of light swam behind Bruce's vision when he looked away from the office window. He did his best to ignore it, but the annoyance that was this conversation was making that a difficult task to do. He grit his teeth. 

"There are dozens of other options that I can think of right now that would have been better than this, Donald."

Pyke removed the cloth from his suit pocket to dab at his face, and stuttered, "No- I mean, _yes_ , technically, there were other options, but..."

Bruce glared behind him to where his lawyer stood fidgeting, effectively quieting Pyke's useless ramble.

"Donald," he said, grabbing Pyke's reluctant attention,"I need you to explain."

Pyke wrung his hands together, and he closed his eyes. He turned to look outside of the window where snow fell down in ever growing flakes. 

"All of the other options would have made you look worse than you already do, Mr. Wayne," he started. "With the speculations around Cunningham's death, a press conference with absolutely no preparation would have been a disaster.

"Look," Pyke said, and placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder,"you're little speech forced our hands on the situation, Mr. Wayne. Your annual New Year's gala seemed like a decent place to fix the problem without raising any more questions."

Bruce shrugged off Pyke's hand. He knew that right off of the bat, but he couldn't scratch the irritation that arose with hearing it.

"Right," he agreed lowly, and scrubbed his chin. "But a little warning would have sufficed, don't you think?"

Again, Bruce twirled to face Pyke, who only looked down at his shoes. Bruce shrugged his shoulders up.

"Did you want me to read about it in the morning paper, Donald? Was the surprise just too good for you to pass up?"

Pyke played with his things and licked his lips. "Mr. Wayne, I called to schedule a meeting nearly a day before the decision was made. Mr. Pennyworth answered it."

Bruce's chest seized. He forced himself to inhale, and he cleared his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Pyke moving to sit next to him.

"You're certain he's the one who answered?" said Bruce, and looked towards Pyke.

With a click of his tongue, Pyke scratched at the balding patch on his head. "Unless you have another British butler going by Pennyworth, then, yeah.?"

If he were looking at himself, Bruce was certain he would have seen his skin turn a deathly gray. He chewed at his bottom lip and turned away from Pyke's concerned questions.

"Mr. Wayne? Is everything alright, sir?"

Bruce held himself from shaking his head. The motion would have only made him more sickly than he was. He pushed up an award winning smile in place.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he answered and chuckled. "He must've forgotten to tell me."

Pyke said nothing but a pull between the eyebrows. Bruce waited while the disquiet between them settled down until he couldn't stand it any longer. He curled one of his fingers in tight enough that his fingernails left indents on his palm.

"What am I supposed to do, then? I can't just change all of the event's plans on such short notice."

"Well, if you don't mind me saying, Mr. Wayne, you still have one month until the gala. It isn't that big of a deal."

Of course Pyke was going to make this difficult. For being one of Gotham's most refined attorneys, he seemed to come with a long list of flaws. 

Bruce had hoped that he wouldn't have to pull out the Wayne identity today. He wasn't exactly up for the role - it always ended up draining him more than anything else. It seemed that wouldn't be an option.

He sucked in, and he put on the best Golden Child smile he could muster. Both of his palms stretched flat on the table to push him facing towards Pyke.

"Actually, Donald, I do mind," he stated firmly.

Pyke's mouth fell open to - what Bruce assumed - was going to be a lengthy apology, but his hand flashed up to silence him first. 

"You realise that this event is planned all year round, correct? Only the best of the best are allowed to attend," Bruce told, waving his arm for emphasis. 

"Celebrities from all around the world mark a date on their calendar as the day they'll be attending the Wayne Enterprises New Year's Ball. And you want me to... what? Send out invites to every lowlife walking the streets of Gotham? Throw out two cent papers onto the streets and anyone who catches one I welcome with open arms? I mean, for God's sake, Donald, this isn't a Charles Dickens book."

Each word that came out of Bruce seemed to make Pyke slink back into his chair as though he were about to go right for his jugular. 

Bruce summoned every drop of strength he had left to get through the rest.

"This event has been a timed tradition in my family for many years. My father, Thomas Wayne himself, hosted this for longer than I have been alive. Yet you have the _audacity_ to say that this isn't that big of a deal."

Pyke gulped. If it weren't for the cool air in the room then Bruce would be certain sweat would be dripping down Pyke's face in buckets. 

"My apologies, sir," he mumbled, voice quavering. "We should get to work now. I can postpone my next appointment."

He took out a notepad and pen with shaking hands, and gave Bruce a smile. The tip of the writing utensil scribbled on the paper with every one of Pyke's jerky movements.

Bruce made a mental note to get a lawyer. If this was how Pyke worked with a client he would no doubt break in the court. Unfortunate as it was, Bruce couldn't help but think that day would be coming soon.

At this rate he might as well be represented by Dent himself.

"You think?" Bruce jabbed, but the joking tone obviously didn't land. He closed his eyes, and indicated towards the pad.

"Unless you want to have someone go undercover, I don't think there's avoiding the press making a show."

Each tap of the pen tip grate on Bruce's nerves. Above all he just wanted to get this little speck of a problem out of his way.

If Alfred had only told about this earlier then Bruce would have been able to avoid this. 

Whatever was going on with Alfred was driving Bruce near insanity. He had barely even seen Alfred in the last few weeks, and for what? One minute he had some - still unknown - surprise for Bruce, and the next he was keeping secrets and avoiding all contact?

"Fine, just-" Bruce said, and puffed out around an unamused laugh. "Just not too many."

"Of course, Mr. Wayne. What about broadcasting it?"

Bruce rubbed his forehead. "Broadcasting?"

"Yes," Pyke explained, crossing his legs. "Ryder could bring in his camera crew, or something along those lines, and we could hold a sort of- a- a press conference? All of Gotham would be able to watch."

Smirking, Bruce closed his eyes. "I'm starting to think you're undercover idea wasn't that bad."

Pyke gave a hesitant laugh, but cut short under Bruce's scrutinising expression. He sniffed, and started writing. Bruce watched each word smear along Pyke's hand through unfocused eyes.

The thought came to him so abruptly that he genuinely laughed out loud. 

Pyke stopped what he was doing to look over at Bruce. He scrunched up his nose, and threw up a half smile.

"Did I do something wrong?" he wondered.

"No," Bruce grinned, and scratched his cheek. "No, you're fine. Just thinking."

"Ah," Pyke said. He looked down at the paper. "Anything useful? We don't have much here."

Bruce's eyes glanced up and out towards the towering buildings. The old architecture of each stone was smooth and burned when it was frozen. Almost everything he saw he could imagine one of the fights he had had up there, or the angle from which the sun rose from each gargoyle.

Across the way, Wayne Enterprises lit up the skyline even in the mid afternoon. If Bruce squinted hard enough he could make out the faint outline of his office windows.

"Not for this."

\----

Strangers kept staring at him.

It was to be expected, he supposed, but, even so, he wasn't loving the attention.

Bruce wrung his hands over the steering wheel. The other customers at the small store watched with a mix of disgust and awe while he pulled away. Even the shop's owner came out to see the show.

He was used to being stared at, being Bruce Wayne and all, but the open eyed stares he got today only served to put him more on edge. 

The purchases he had made were a tad suspicious. Bruce wasn't blind. After all, it was a specific brand that he was going after, and with all thoughts about him being about murder, rumours of this getting out would be worse than terrible.

Which is precisely why he went to a low key side of town to buy them. Anyone on this side of Gotham can be bought into silence with ease, and that was exactly what Bruce needed.

Logically he knew that no one would make that connection. The rational part of his brain was mocking the idiocy of going through all of this trouble, but, on the other hand, the part of him that hadn't slept in three days and played checkers with the clown prince of crime in his basement seemed to be taking his decision fairly well.

Better safe than sorry, Bruce guessed.

He made a direct beeline down to the cave upon arrival at the manor. Joker was most likely asleep, or only waking up, but this was important.

The bags Bruce had gotten were draped on one of his arms. He twiddled with the zipper on one of them.

The click of the elevator stopping jolted Bruce forward. He held on to the small door to keep his balance, and blinked away the darkness clouding around his sight.

"Bats, baby!" he heard call and echo through the walls.

The critters hanging above screeched at Joker's yelling, but remained perched in their spots. Bruce glanced up while he walked. The darkness of the cave made it too difficult to see them.

"You left early last night," Joker said and plopped himself down at Bruce's desktop. "I was starting to think you didn't have fun. Come back for more?"

Joker winked, and giggled at Bruce's noise of disgust. His legs swung back and forth, and he cooed at the bags that were dropped down next to him.

"For me?" he gasped.

Bruce tore off his jacket and tie. He gave a gruff nodded to which Joker grinned. The clothes were left strayed on the ground.

"Darling," Joker breathed, opening the zippers. "You shouldn't have."

"Probably not," Bruce agreed.

He sat down on his chair and rested his chin on his palm. Joker giggled, then twisted to place his feet on the other arm rest. For once, Bruce didn't object.

"What's the occasion?"

Bruce watched Joker pull out the deep purple suit from its packaging. He sniffed the material and smoothed over the bright yellow vest. The joyous expression on Joker's face made Bruce smirk.

"Oh," Joker said, and grimaced when he opened the other bag. "This better not be your attempt at humour, Bats. I know funny-"

He held up the next suit. Black tie, and a white button up came with the plain gray blazer and slacks. Joker held it gingerly as though it would burn him if he got too close.

"And this ain't it."

Bruce pointed to it. "It's your business attire."

Joker blinked at Bruce, incredulous. He let out a dry chuckle, and his smile ticked.

"Who and the what?"

Bruce snorted, and the familiar guilty tug at his chest left him breathless for far less time than the last. Joker's initial shock fell off in the same amount. They breathed together, then proceeded as if nothing happened.

"I had an idea," Bruce explained, and kicked his feet up on the dash.

"Impressive, really," Joker teased. He beamed at Bruce's sneer. "Fine, fine. What was this great idea of your's?"

"I have a friend-" he held up a quick finger to halt Joker's next response. "I have a friend who can help with the scrubbed tapes."

At this, Joker paused. He craned his neck forward towards Bruce, and his lips fell open so that his tongue was resting on the roof of his mouth.

"And you didn't mention this...why?"

Bruce stayed with his tongue tied, staring off into the distance so that he didn't have to look directly at Joker's - far too close in proximity - face. His lungs ached from the effort it took to hold his breath.

The snicker by his ear had Bruce reeling from the inside out. He felt a hand prod at his shoulder, but refused to return to Joker.

"Oh... Ashamed of me?" Joker knocked with a rumbling chuckle. "It's alright, I get it! I'm a lot to handle. Comedians aren't for everyone, I know. Don't worry, I'll keep the puns on a down low."

"I didn't know if I could trust you," Bruce said, but it was spoken so deep that it was almost inaudible. "You're dangerous. I couldn't risk putting him in harm's way."

Joker didn't smile. It drew Bruce to finally take turn to him. He trailed his eyes across the thin line that was Joker's mouth, then slowly up across his nose. He stopped at the faint scar line that ran down one side; no doubt received from one of Bruce's own fists.

 _Didn't_ and _couldn't_ replayed over and over in each of their minds. Bruce could see it when he finally moved to look between Joker's flickering eyes.

"You're too sweet, Bats," Joker said in a sudden grin. 

Bruce looked back on the hand resting feather light on his shoulder, only then realizing it was still there. He froze, blinking at it, then looked up to see Joker fluttering his lashes like some school girl in an old film. Irritation forced its way through Bruce, and he found himself shoving Joker's face away.

" _Focus._ "

"Oh, but darling!" Joker exclaimed through fits of trembling laughter. "Your sparkling eyes are the only thing I can s-"

" _Lucius_ ," Bruce interrupted with a harsh swipe up on the computer,"works for Wayne Enterprises, and is incredibly talented with technology. One of the smartest people I know."

Joker gathered himself, but Bruce knew he had been fine for longer than that. He could feel that intense stare on him for the last few minutes; watching Bruce as if there was something else hidden there to see. 

"So, what, then? We put on our nicest suits to make a phone call? If this guy's as much of a whiz as you say then you can just email him the video."

"Yes," Bruce agreed, nodding. "Technically we could do that."

He brought up the images of Mabel and the footage side by side. Joker flipped around to face the screen.

Bruce switched their roles then, taking the time to squint at Joker. A month of having the clown with him and he still couldn't quite get over how different he was. Without the makeup, or the flashy clothes, or the prank wind up teeth hidden in his coat pockets, Bruce wasn't even certain if he was staring at the same man.

Bruce wished he wasn't so different. He wished that if he turned around right then that Joker would hop onto his back and try to strangle him with that annoying laughter ringing in his ears the whole time; that Joker was as deranged during this time as the press and the fighting and Arkham had all made him out to be.

Perhaps that way it would be easier to hate him. 

God, Bruce wished he hated him.

"But?" Joker asked. He twisted to look over his shoulder and down at Bruce.

" _But_ ," Bruce repeated, but words felt foreign to his ears with each syllable. "We need to do something else first."

"Like dress in terrible clothing?"

"Will you stop bringing up the clothes?"

Joker spun around and pulled his knees up to rest his chin on. He hugged himself. A small sigh racked his body.

"The suspense is killing me here, Batsy," he said. "Can we skip the foreplay and get to the good stuff already?"

Bruce shook his head in total exasperation. He directed to Mabel, and Joker raised his brows.

"You said you might know her."

"Our fun little interrogation would say so," Joker said, obviously impatient.

"Could you recognise her voice?" 

Bruce caught the glimpse of interest sparking on Joker instantly.

"Possibly," Joker answered, raising himself to sit higher.

Bruce positioned himself so that he was standing at Joker's level. His hand landed next to Joker's in a way that would have been a threat only a month before.

"I need you to be certain for this to work."

Taking the moment to study Bruce, Joker cracked a small but impressive smile; one that showed he knew exactly what he was in for.

"If she's from where I think she is," he mumbled, licking his lips. "Then yeah."

Bruce grit his teeth, but smirked, finding that he believed that. He blinked, moving to turn, but Joker caught his hand. At this point he wasn't even stunned by the feeling. He only stopped, and tilted his head.

"What?"

Joker's breath was warm from the distance between them. His chest heaved up with the opening to whatever he had been going to say, and Bruce felt something inside of him burn.

"Do we get code names?"

In an instant, Bruce frowned, and Joker exploded into a fit of laughter that would surely leave him wheezing later.

Whatever it was that he had been going to say was left hanging in the space between them. Bruce found he didn't mind after Joker smiled.

\----

Although he had had over a week to plan for this, Bruce had no clue what he was going to say.

Interrogation was something he was good at. As Batman he had no problem beating his attackers until they gave up the needed information. It wasn't as though he could do that here.

What was the information he needed anyway? The most Bruce had to go off of was Joker's word - which he was still on the edge about - and the fact that he hadn't been informed about the gala. For all Bruce knew Alfred had only forgotten to mention it.

Bruce wasn't even certain about what Alfred could possibly be hiding from him. Unless he was suddenly a criminal after all of these years, what could he have to lie about?

"Goddamn it," he mumbled while rounding the corner to the game room.

Alfred was wiping off the mantel when he heard Bruce enter. He didn't look back. He only stopped his humming to speak.

"Good afternoon, Master Bruce," he greeted. "How was the meeting?"

Bruce sat back on the pool table to watch Alfred work. He crossed his arms over his chest and pinched his lips together.

Not hearing a response, Alfred turned on his heel. He polished the candle holders, and made a curious face.

"Something wrong, sir?" he pressed further.

The knot in Bruce's stomach tightened at the realisation that there was no turning back. He fought the urge to make some excuse to go back downstairs. Joker would have laughed at him for it, and he did not feel like dealing with that either.

"We..." Bruce fumbled, then back tracked. "You didn't tell me Pyke had called."

Alfred's wringing stopped. He paused before placing the candle and cleaning product back up on the fireplace.

"You were busy," he said through a sour frown.

"You've never had a problem with that before," Bruce accused, watching the way Alfred twitched.

"Well," Alfred scoffed to himself, and moved to pick up the feather duster. "There wasn't a deranged clown living in the cave before either, sir."

Bruce's heart skipped. His lips pulled back into a snarl, and he dug his knuckles into the wood he leaned against.

"Are you implying that I'm distracted, Alfred?" he grumbled.

The sniff Bruce received would have been enough for a broken arm towards anyone else. He forced himself to relax.

"No," Alfred answered, then raised a brow. "I'm simply suggesting that you've been spending quite a lot of time with the Joker."

Alfred moved passed Bruce to the other side of the room. He began to wipe down the bar's countertop. Bruce listened to the rag moving back and forth, but didn't turn to watch. He tilted to get a view of the floor, and curled his fingers around the pool table's edge.

"From what I hear, so have you."

The sound of movement ceased. Bruce could practically see the way Alfred was staring at his back. It was the same look he would get as a child when he said something rude. It tended to be followed by a firm clap to the head, and a list of chores.

Those never came. Bruce waited for some kind of response, but the only one that came was the shuffle of feet and the clatter of the duster being set down.

"Ah," Alfred whispered. "I see."

Finally, Bruce made to face Alfred. They met eyes with blank expression, but that changed when Alfred sighed.

"It certainly took you long enough. For the world's greatest detective, you're very slow to pick up on things."

Bruce walked around to be closer to Alfred. "Why have you been visiting Joker?"

"He makes me laugh, sir."

Bruce's face fell. He shook his head at Alfred's surly glare. Neither had to say a word to know that Bruce was not in the mood. Alfred huffed.

"Remember when I told you I had something for you?" he asked, walking to the door.

Bruce needed no instruction to follow. He walked a step behind Alfred after answering a yes. They twisted through the main entrance hall in the direction of Thomas' old office. 

Alfred put a hand up for Bruce to wait. He went to one of the drawers in the creaky oak desk. He rummaged through it in silence, giving no indication of what he was doing.

"Alfred," Bruce said after five minutes of standing there.

"Patience."

Alfred pulled up a stack of paperwork and gave a satisfied noise. He looked to Bruce, waving them, then stuck them out towards him.

Bruce strode forward and took them. He looked at Alfred for a moment, but only got a nod down at the papers. He exhaled and glanced at them.

Confusion flooded his mind. He flipped over the papers to look at the other side, hoping for an explanation, but nothing was there. Bruce's thumb traced the chart printed on it, and the steadily declining marks throughout every sheet. 

"What are these?" he questioned without taking his attention away from them.

"Blood tests," Alfred said. "I assume Joker told you I was taking samples."

Bruce grunted. "In his own way. What is this here?"

He pointed to a second blue line above the steady red one. It started up at high levels; higher than there should be. It wasn't too odd for Joker's DNA, but the stats were still out of control. From all appearances it took days for the levels to dip down.

"I was hoping you would know," Alfred shrugged. That got a look from Bruce. "You seem to know him well enough."

Bruce shook his head, flipping through the results again. He hesitated. His hands shook from holding the stack so tightly. His forehead crinkled.

One month ago he would have been able to say with absolute certainty whether or not he knew Joker well. A clear and firm no, and that would have been the end of it.

'How could he know Joker?' he would ask. 'The bastard doesn't even know himself.'

In a way it was the truth. Joker didn't technically know any facts about himself. Questions that everyone else could answer in a flat second drew a blank for the clown. There was no way Bruce could know them if Joker himself didn't.

Bruce knew other parts though. The way Joker laughed when he was genuinely enjoying himself rather than trying to please the crowd. The way he hated blow drying his hair because it always tangled his curls more than they already were. The fact that he hated mint toothpaste because it makes his tongue burn.

Bruce knew enough about Joker to know that whatever the blue line was wasn't good. That was enough to make his head spin.

"How'd you get this in the first place?"

Alfred's nostrils flared. "When I was stitching him up that first day he had taken a bad reaction to the pain killers, so I did a quick blood test to find out what else would effect him."

"And this is what showed up?" Bruce pondered, but the question was left hanging between them. He already knew the answer.

Bruce threw the papers down on the desk. He pinched his nose and pulled at his cheeks. One more problem to worry about.

At least he got rid of the Alfred situation.

"I need a drink," he muttered, peeking at Alfred. "Something strong."

Alfred smiled at Bruce then. It was small, and it crinkled around the corners of his eyes, but the affection behind it was enough to make Bruce soften from the inside out. 

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he admitted, showing a gentle smirk.

Alfred laughed. He clapped a hand on Bruce's cheek, and patted it. Bruce closed his eyes and relaxed.

"I'll get the glasses."


	12. Study Date

Nearly two weeks of planning.

The cave was cold, damp, and at that point swirling with how tired they both were. The early December air was settling into the walls and giving the air more of a bite than usual.

The two were running off of pure caffeine by the third day - Bruce had been for the last month, but the others didn't need to know that - thanks to Alfred. 

After the talk with Bruce, they had come to the agreement that Alfred was to be a part of the case from that point forward. Although, Bruce had had to argue for some time that there was no way Alfred would be with them physically anywhere.

Bruce was shocked he didn't have a bump on his head from where Alfred had scolded him that he was perfectly capable of handling himself.

They still agreed that it was safer in the cave.

Joker, to Bruce's great relief, was not as much of a nuisance as he had expected him to be. 

He had prepared himself to have to tear Alfred away from swatting Joker over the head or spraying him with water like some feral cat. Or, in a worse situation, chaining Joker back up so that he couldn't hurt Alfred.

It turned out they worked fairly well together. Alfred, though not pleased by Joker's crude sense of humour, was well versed in handling anything that Joker threw at him. 

As for the Joker himself, he had tamed himself down to slink around Bruce. That wasn't much different than before, but he had started avoiding gross topics so that he wouldn't get hit by Alfred's offending hand.

_"Seriously,"_ he complained to Bruce once, leaning his chin on his shoulder, _"does he have metal glove on or something?"_

_"No,"_ Bruce said, distracted by something he was reading. Or perhaps it was Joker's body halfway on top of him.

It was the article.

The work ethic was fantastic. Despite the overwhelming amount of exhaustion, the three worked non stop at figuring out every plot hole, in and out, or anything in between that they could possibly think of. 

Joker's makeup skills, and knowledge of quick escape was more than useful for blending in to the crowd. Bruce worked on the information portion with showing Joker through the reins of what needed to happen, where, and how. Every layout of Wayne Enterprises came through Alfred, who also played as the voice of reason towards what could and could not work. The true neutral ground, and their fresh set of eyes.

12 days, seven hours, and twenty nine minutes was what it had been. Bruce checked his watch again one minute later to make sure he had read it correctly, but it still showed to be right.

They hadn't moved out of the cave in all of that time. Sunlight didn't filter in there, nor did noise, so it had been difficult to tell by looking.

Bruce's head lolled to the side where he could get a better look around himself. Alfred was asleep on the cot, and had been for a few hours. He was the only one who had been willing to give it a rest. Thinking about it then, Bruce figured that that was probably the only reason they had been able to make so much progress. He really was the powerhouse of the team.

 _Team._ Never thought he'd be using that word when referring to the Joker.

Bruce rubbed at his eyes. They were a little crusted on the sides, and he scrunched his nose. He could feel his body shutting down as the caffeine drained away.

Next to him, Joker was staring down at the schematics for Bruce's office. He looks unfocused with his hands curled into his hair in an attempt to hold his head.

A small smile flitted across Bruce's face. He placed his hand in his palm, and found himself staring with a sort of distant look to him. Exhaustion made his eyeslids flutter down.

It almost put him right to sleep just to watch Joker breathe. He didn't know when that had started, but a long time ago he had found it easy to watch the steady motion and stay there.

He rolled his chair over to sit right next to Joker once he caught himself. He looked down to the papers, but didn't take the time to actually study them. The unfocused blur would have to wait.

"You look tired."

Joker rolled his head lazily into one hand for a better look towards Bruce. He widened his eyes and then blinked.

"Well, thanks, Bats. You sure know how to pamper a lady."

Bruce scoffed. He rubbed his eyes again, and pressed his palms into the sides of his skull. He took the papers out from under Joker's elbows.

"You know, you're not looking much better yourself," Joker mumbled. 

He didn't even attempt to argue the removal of his study work. Bruce had to guess that he had probably only been dozing off for the last twenty minutes.

Bruce squinted. "What's your point?"

Joker shrugged. He snatched the sketches away from Bruce and rolled his way over to the garbage. Each one was tossed into the trash.

He stuck out his bottom lip when he caught Bruce's unhappy expression. With a gentle sigh, he rolled back over. Lanky legs casually found their way into Bruce's lap.

"You need sleep too, Bats. And don't give me that look."

Bruce made an awkward motion to move his arms away. He continued to look frustrated with Joker, but having the clown practically on top of him made it a bit difficult to pay attention. He could feel heat burning at his ears.

"It sounds nice, and you know it," Joker proceeded; now with a goofy, all too tired grin. "Cuddle up on the sofa with a big warm blanket, fire place going on in the corner. Snow outside is falling down. The tree is all lit up and sparkling. Like our very own Hallmark movie! Rich guy helps save the distressed lady from ruin just before Christmas. Old Al can play the surprise Santa..."

"Enough," Bruce sighed. He really did not want to think more about that. "I get it. Just shut up already."

Joker wiggled and placed his arms over his knees. He leaned closer in towards Bruce, beaming. 

"Does this mean you'll get some sleep?"

Bruce closed his eyes and breathed out heavily. He raised his shoulders. "Sure. I guess."

Joker's lips puckered, and he sniffed, quite obviously not believing Bruce's words. He lifted his hand so that it was parallel with Bruce's chest, then flicked up Bruce's nose when he looked down at it.

Giggling, Joker shook his hands. He covered his mouth to try and stop, but water was forming in his eyes despite the efforts.

Bruce felt himself lighten up inside. The grumpy demeanor he held didn't portray that in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's just-" Joker snorted and wiped his cheeks from stray tears. "You're too easy."

Joker looked like he was falling asleep where he sat. Though the wide smile he had was full of life, Bruce could see the way his gaze dragged and the sluggish movement in his bones. 

It reminded him of how Joker was after one of the more draining fights; the ones that took all night long and left them both broken and soaked in blood. He always acted like he was ready for more blows with a quick witted joke to get Batman riled up.

Bruce could always see how tired Joker really was. It was something about his eyes. Sparks lit Joker up when he was in the mood for chaos, like a firework show that exploded through his every move. After the adrenaline kick was gone, it was as though the finale to the most grand performance ever witnessed had fizzled out and dropped.

He tried not to think about the nights when he could feel the broken bones he'd acquired pierced every ragged, iron-tasting breath he took. How Joker would laugh until his bloodied knees gave out and he'd claw at Batman until they were both splayed out on the ground. 

The rare times like these where they absorbed in the calm, silent agreement that they would do the other no harm, and only lay together watching the stars above. When they both pretended like they weren't going to meet each other the very next night, or week, or even month and do this all over again.

"Something in my teeth?" Joker asked suddenly, and swiped over the top row with his tongue. 

Bruce flinched, earning a slow brow raise, but acted like he hadn't.

"No," Bruce answered. He waved Joker away and pointed at him. "Never mind. Just get some rest."

"No can do, babes. I'm staying up as long as you stay up."

Bruce slumped back into the chair and threw his pencil onto the desk. "Fine. Do what you want. Don't complain to me tomorrow."

Joker snatched up another paper and rifled through the stack to look over it. After a few seconds of watching him do this, Bruce returned to what he had been doing as well.

He sketched down a few remarks about the architecture in the building. Bruce leaned in closer to get a better look.

They were going over the Arkham structures. All of the main routes and most of the secret layouts they had both known well, but each had information regarding the inside of the facility the other had no clue of.

Bruce only had one place to mark off that Joker had not heard of yet. He hadn't released the location. Though he was trusting Joker with a lot - including their lives - this was something that was not to be taken lightly. Having discussed this, he and Joker had come to the conclusion that, unless absolutely needed, Joked would not have access to this area.

On Joker's part, there was a whole lot more to unpack than Bruce had anticipated.

Having thought he knew the entirety of Arkham was a punch in the gut when Bruce was informed of a whole entire section he hadn't known about.

One of such places was an exterior wall in the ICU. Many walls in the building weren't structurally sound, but this one in particular covered up an entire hallway down to another section for worse off patients. It was supposed to be newly renovated by one of the generous donors - one of the ones who obviously are not from Gotham - as a way to help Arkham get back on its feet.

When Bruce asked why it was blocked off Joker had let out a string off concerning laughs before telling Bruce that the poor bastard was crushed and left inside by one of the inmates during one of his routine check ups. Arkham didn't want that getting out - as with most of what happens inside - so they made a wall over the hallway and pretended it never happened.

Many alternating routes were all over the institute. Bruce had discovered some of them in his searches, but most were new and covered up by patients planning escape. They did it well, to their credit. If Batman's scanner couldn't pick it up then the doctors certainly wouldn't.

He supposed it made sense as to how Joker and the others broke out so often. The place was barely secure in the areas that the staff knew about.

Over two days they have pointed out every place in Arkham, Wayne Enterprises, and wherever else between. 

The only problem with that was that Joker was terrible at drawing.

Bruce scribbled through what he assumed was a blocked gate by the little stick men with triangle hats.

He was beginning to question how Joker's people even knew what they were supposed be doing.

"Joker?" he voiced and pushed the image over. "What is-?"

Bruce paused. He dropped the paper to roll forward in silence, grimacing at the squeak of the chair wheels. He leaned down to where Joker was spread out over the desk. 

Half annoyance made Bruce grumble, but the rest of him smiled at the drooling form of Joker passed out on their schedule notes.

Bruce looked over to where Alfred was one last time to reassure himself. He remained fast asleep on the cot where Joker tended to reside. 

"Shit," he whispered.

It was the only option. He had to keep telling himself that, or else, maybe, for some reason, it might not be true.

Bruce put his arms underneath Joker's to slide him up and over. Joker complied with a sleepy grumble before resting his head down on Bruce's shoulder. His pulse sped up for a solid second, making it almost difficult to get a deep breath, then puffed out harshly.

"Did you have to do that?" he mumbled into Joker's hair, knowing full well that the clown was not sleeping quite yet.

"Did you have to disturb me?" Joker replied against Bruce's sweater; just as expected. "I was perfectly fine where I was."

His nose pressed into Bruce's neck despite the sentiment. The cold made Bruce shiver along with the tickle of Joker's curls against his cheek. 

"You would've killed your back sleeping like that."

Bruce pulled Joker up with ease, but Joker stumbled from the action. Hands found their way around Bruce's waist and gripped his shirt for steadiness.

"What are we doing?" Joker asked, but never pulled away. 

"Going to bed," Bruce said and hiked the practically ragdoll clown up so that he could drag him easier.

Joker's legs pulled up on their own accord. His feet twisted and hooked around the back in a loose hold, and his head buried down.

Bruce stalled from shock for only a second, but didn't tell Joker to get down. Both had done this to eachother in many situations before, so it wasn't much different. 

Well, not one hundred percent true. In those instances it was usually because Joker was too injured to walk, and he needed to get into the car somehow.

So, yeah, a sleepy Joker was just the same as those times. Absolutely.

"My bed is over there, darling," Joker pointed out, and Bruce could feel the motion of Joker's hand pointing up.

"Alfred is in it."

"He can be woken up."

"Do you _want_ me to drop you?" Bruce asked with a bite, but both knew it held no poison. He sighed and slid open the doors. "He needs rest just as much as we do. I, for one, don't want to interrupt that."

Joker sang in quiet understanding. "So, what, then? I get to sleep on the table?"

Bruce paused to bite his cheek, and he moved to place Joker back down on his feet, but the clown refused to budge. He would have shook his head if it weren't for Joker's face being pressed into his collarbone.

"There's a spare room next to mine that already has all of your makeup and clothes in it."

In a flat second all of Joker's muscles seized up under Bruce's hands. He dropped down - a little unsteady, but Bruce put that up to fatigue - and squinted.

"I know your sense of humour is wacko, Bats, so forgive me when I ask: are you _kidding_ me?"

Bruce's expression remained nonchalant, but his pounding heart beat gave away his nerves. "What?"

Joker, to Bruce's - oddly enough - surprise, laughed. "This may be a bit obvious, but you are, if I remember correctly, Bruce Wayne, and I am, above all, still the crown prince of crime. Do you remember that or are you more tired than I thought?"

Shifting from foot to foot, Bruce slid into the lift behind Joker. "No one will see us, if that's what you're worried about. The manor is secluded. People don't just drive by."

Joker squeezed his eyes shut and tugged at his curls. The giant smile he had twitched, and Bruce grimaced in response.

"You're sort of the target of a murder case, Bats. You really think your paparazzi aren't waiting outside to see you striking an incriminating pose?"

Both of them stood and stared at the other's bleary, bag ridden faces with equal measures of wildly ranging emotion. Bruce, for one, had the oddest sensation of surprise. That, and a hint of concern.

It was utter crap. There was no way Bruce would let something as simple as the press hiding in his bushes slip passed his radar. There were probably high tech Batman cameras that could read people's minds in there, and Joker knew that. He was going crazy over nothing. It made Bruce smirk just a little.

"Remind me not to let you stay up for too long," he remarked and made room for Joker next to him. "You get paranoid."

Joker seemed to shut down again within the five second span of Bruce reaching out to drag him inside. He even went as far as to plop his head back down onto Bruce's shoulder.

"Fuck you, Bats," he said.

Bruce patted Joker's head lightly and jolted with the movement of the cart.

"Right back at you."

\-----

Joker had been out the moment he'd hit the bed.

The remarks about "nice digs" and the manor being a lot better than any place Joker had ever stayed in were a lot less painful than Bruce had imagined them to be. It was possibly the only reason he was thankful for Joker's extreme exhaustion.

It had admittedly taken a lot longer for Bruce to fall asleep. All he could do was think about why he was doing what he was, how the plan could fail tomorrow, and even the idea that Joker was secretly lying to him all this time.

Somehow the last one kept him up the most.

Eventually Bruce got to sleep, and it was some of the best he had gotten since the whole fiasco had began. Which was a bit strange, considering Gotham's most notorious killer was literally one door away.

He was up again by five a.m.

Bruce's leg jumped as quietly as he could make it from his seat. His head rested in his hand against the arm rest, but the tension in his neck didn't fade.

He knew it was creepy to stare. The exact scenario of watching someone sleep was in horror movies for a reason. He couldn't help it. It was like he was drawn to Joker's room. The moment Bruce had woken up he had found his way into the spare and sat down in the chair across from the bed.

Joker was spread out with every inch of the mattress being taken up. His feet hung off of the edges and his arms were pinned underneath his chest and over his head. The extra pillows had been tossed off to the side with the blankets curled up on the end. 

Bruce couldn't blame Joker. After such a long time of sleeping on disgusting cots with cheap sheets he would take up as much space of the nice bed as possible too.

Joker's mouth hung open. He drooled, and snored every once and a while, but for the most part he was silent. Occasionally his fingers would twitch as an indication that he was about to move, then he would flip over and mess up the sheets even more.

Bruce shifted to the other side. He winced as his bones creaked in protest. Joker responded to the chair's noise by rolling to face Bruce, face pressed into the nearest pillow.

Bruce gave a tug of a smile, and scooted forward to the edge of the seat. Joker's hair was mussed up and directly in his eyes. Without even thinking about it, Bruce reached forward to push them back. 

Alfred had always done it to him as a child. He must have picked it up from that.

Joker, to his credit, had incredibly soft hair. Bruce didn't know why that surprised him. For some reason he had been thinking that maybe criminals couldn't use conditioner. 

Bruce flinched and retracted his hand like he had touched a welding iron when he noticed Joker's eyes were creaked open. The acidic color really made them glow in the dark, even with the bleary confusion from post sleep.

"Uh," he whispered and forced his pulse to slow. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Joker mumbled something under his hand and grunted while he propped himself onto his elbow. He rubbed at his face. 

"What time is it?" he asked, glaring at the clock on the wall.

"Seven."

Joker pulled the thin blanket around his shoulders while he sat up. His face scrunched up. "And why are you in my room at seven?"

His voice was scratchy in the morning; more than usual, at least. Bruce would have found it irritating if it weren't for the almost sweet appearance contradicting it. His stomach pulled with the thought.

"How long have you been up?" Joker continued in a half whisper. 

Bruce had taken too long to answer the first time, but that didn't matter. Joker had already known the first one anyhow.

"Two hours," he begrudged, intentionally avoiding Joker's eyes. 

Joker shimmied backwards to make extra room, then leaned over so he was right down in line with Bruce. He smiled.

"Nervous, are we?"

Bruce looked up through his lashes with a tight expression. He swallowed against the bubble expanding in his lungs.

"If anything goes off course..." he strained, and tugged the sheets.

Joker's hand brushed against Bruce's to stop him. Their gazes met, and Bruce could feel the bubble both deflate and expand at the same time.

"Nothing's gonna go wrong, Bats," he assured. 

There he was; stuck in some unending Ferris Wheel with Joker that he couldn't quite bring himself to leave. Up and around slow as can be, and paying for the ride to keep going no matter how damn annoying Joker got. 

For some god forsaken reason, Bruce believed every word Joker said. No regrets, no more anger, but a flooding feeling of relief that he couldn't explain if he tried to. 

Even so, that irritating part of his brain continued to flash with images of what could happen.

Joker must have sensed the feeling. He sat up and patted the bed space in front of himself. Bruce eyed it wearily, and Joker giggled.

"I'm not gonna strangle you with the sheets," he quipped and grinned. Bruce climbed on with a resigned snark.

"Up we go," Joker said. He wiggled when Bruce finally sat down across from him. "That's a good Batman."

"Why am I up here?" Bruce glowered. He pushed Joker's hand away.

"Why were you watching me sleep for two hours?" Joker remarked and gave a wink.

Bruce closed his eyes. "What do you want?" he asked instead.

Joker shrugged at this. "You want to go over the plan again."

Eyes snapping open, Bruce quickly diverted himself to stare at the pillow next to Joker rather than at him. It didn't do much good, however, seeing as Joker dipped down to where Bruce was glaring.

"I know you haven't had your coffee yet, but you don't have to be such a grump, darling," he said. "Come on, lay it on me. I don't mind."

Bruce leaned his hand into the mattress, and waited as he sunk in to the foam. The stubborn side of him did not want to give in to Joker's antics; especially so early in the morning. Especially after having woken the clown up from touching his hair.

He was genuinely shocked that there hadn't been any mockery about that.

However, not going over the plan was killing Bruce from the inside out.

"Fine," he admitted, and lowered his voice to what some people would consider a pout. He ignored Joker's snicker.

"Alright, alright," Joker began. 

He raised his hands in preparation for a one man acting session. Bruce just barely suppressed a smile. 

"We get out of the car."

\-----

Bruce's hands were glued to the doors.

The last time he'd gotten out here he had been in almost the exact same situation. Press outside of the building waiting for his arrival, police cars sitting in the corners as though no one would see them, and the race of his heartbeat loud enough that he could almost see seventy six trombones.

The only difference was the clown standing next to him.

Bruce looked over at Joker in hopes that the familiar sight would slow his mind. He wasn't used to doing anything this big without the mask. Though he had definitely gone under cover before and had to do it as Wayne, it was never with a risk this big. He would be lying if he said he wasn't terrified.

The initial shock he got looking at Joker faded away the moment Joker sent him a smile. Dressed head to toe in that plain suit, Joker had placed on a full face of makeup and beard to hide his features. He'd even gone the length to get plain brown eye contacts. 

Bruce didn't know why he hated it so much.

"Don't get cold feet on me now, Bats," Joker whispered to him. "It's time for you to make your way down the aisle."

"Don't call me that."

"Then don't look so broody."

Bruce shot him an exasperated glare while they walked up to the front doors. Joker puffed out a quiet laugh.

"There!" someone shouted. 

Flashes came at them within the split second it took to touch the staircase. Bruce pulled up his grin on instinct, and he waved at each of the reporters dismissively. His other hand found its way to Joke's back, and he pushed him forward as discretely as he could muster.

"Is it true that you're inviting Gotham citizens into the gala this year?"

"Look this way!"

"What would your father think of this sudden change?"

"Over here, kid!"

Bruce turned his heel to face them the moment Joker had gotten up and out of the direct line of fire. Part of his lungs gave up on trying to strangle him. One task over with.

"I will continue to respect and uphold my father's traditions," Bruce confirmed. Lights glared and made his eyes blur. "The Wayne Family name stands to be Gotham's best and brightest. This gala has been a representation of that, and will remain so for many years to come."

"Sir, is this any news on Albert Cunningham's tragic death?"

"What do you have to say about-"

"-round this way, big smile!"

Bruce turned and tuned out the people yelling his name out behind him. He only looked up from the ground when he felt Joker's hand slip over his shoulder to confirm their position by the entrance.

"Nice job out there," Joker said. "Even got me a little riled up."

Bruce grunted his thanks, and smiled at the desk clerk rising to greet him. He elbowed Joker as a warning to stop the touching.

"Mr. Wayne! We weren't expecting you today. Er-" he faltered, looking at Joker.

Bruce patted the desk. "It's alright, Horace. He's with me. Just showing him around the office."

Horace nodded and waved shortly at Joker, who did the exact same right back.

"Morning," he said, and Bruce's heart nearly stopped hearing the deep voice Joker had taken on.

Bruce nudged Joker along towards the direction of the elevators while he gave Horace one final grin. The instant the doors shut around them his face fell down.

"Aw. Don't look so glum!" Joker chirped. "You and me, working side by side. Have a little fun, darling! You'll ruin my vibe."

"What _vibe_? You're undercover."

"Geez, it's not literal. You're such a negative batsy sometimes."

The elevator dinged and came to a stop. Bruce switched back to a smile as he stepped out and moved passed a few of the employees.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne!" a woman - Clara Silverstein, 27, unmarried - said, and waved to him. "Good to see you back."

Bruce mustered a small laugh. "Good to be back."

Same conversation, same people, same hallways; Bruce wanted to grab the nearest letter opener and jab it into his chest. It would make for something different, at least. Stir up a little action.

Then he remembered the case, and the murder, and that he had the literal Clown Prince of Crime wandering through his company hallway right next to him.

Speaking of whom, Joker whipped back around from where he'd been watching Clara leave.

"She likes you," he pointed out.

Bruce's eye twitched. "What?"

"She blushed when you talked to her," Joker answered simply, but no teasing could be registered in his tone.

"Yeah," Bruce mumbled. "That's what it's like being a trillionare."

"Oo," Joker mocked. "Getting into the technical words now. You on edge about something?"

"Just waiting for you to mess this up."

Joker hissed through his teeth as they turned the corner to the giant doors. He leaned against the wall while Bruce unlocked them.

"Witty," Joker complimented harshly. What got him on edge? "Might have to step up my game today."

"Please don't."

"Well, sugarberries. I can't argue with proper manners."

Bruce glared as the lock clicked open. He pushed inside and went straight for the desk, relying on Joker to close up behind them both.

"Wowza," Joker awed. "Did you remove a room from the house and insert it here, or what?"

Bruce pressed the button on the bottom of the desk and threw his jacket over the back of the chair. He loosened his tie while he looked to Joker inspecting the shelves.

"Don't pick that up," he nodded to the box Joker was looking at. Joker raised a brow, but before he could ask Bruce continued,"It's fake."

Joker's bottom lip stuck out, but he retracted from playing with it. He slid over to where Bruce's desk was and leaned against it from the other side to get up close with Bruce.

"So, this friend of your's..." He tapped the desk and danced in place. "When's he supposed to be getting here?"

"I'd say about now."

Joker nearly shot up into the air as he spun around to stand next to Bruce. Both of them went rigid into defense positions, but Bruce put his guard down almost instantly.

"Lucius," he smiled.

Lucius shut the doors behind himself. He sprouted a kind grin towards Bruce, and he chuckled.

"Hello, Bruce," he said and stretched his hand out.

Bruce took it and they pulled in to a small hug. Lucius patted Bruce's hand once when they pulled apart before dropping it, then turned to Joker.

"And who would this gentleman be? I don't believe we've met."

Joker showed a small smile, though kept his lips pressed tight together. He shook his head. 

"No, we haven't," he remarked in that deep tone that made Bruce's skin crawl. "Name's Jack. I'm an old friend."

It struck Bruce then that neither of them had ever confirmed how they associated with one another. Enemies was still on the table, of course. Bruce wasn't certain that would ever be taken off.

Mouth dry, Bruce licked his lips. He nodded once, though his brow furrowed. "Yes. He's visiting for the week."

Lucius made a contemplative sound, but pointed to the laptop on the desk instead of furthering his questions on 'Jack.'

"Well, Bruce and I have some company problems to go over, and it's fairly private information. You understand, I hope?"

"Of course!" Jack exclaimed. "In fact, I was hoping to get a tour around the place, so this is perfect."

Bruce and Joker shared a look. Bruce smiled at him and patted between his shoulders, thumb trailing over his neck. He wasn't certain if it was supposed to be a warning to behave, or what he was doing, but Joker tensed nonetheless.

"Great idea," he agreed, and pressed a button on his desk phone. "Lawrence? Send that in that new girl - Sacarello, I believe - to show my friend around the place."

"Of course, Mr. Wayne."

Lucius looked between the two of them, who smiled back politely, and clapped his hands together in front of himself.

"Fantastic. I'm glad to see we've got that settled. And don't worry," he addressed Joker,"this won't take too long."

Joker let out the smallest chuckle that Bruce thought he could muster. It almost looked like it physically pained him.

"It's perfectly fine. Don't rush because of me."

Bruce hummed what he tried to make sound like amusement, but the side eye he received from Joker was enough to tell him that it apparently did not come out that way.

The knock on the door was like the sound of an angel's chorus to both of their ears. The doors opened up to reveal Mabel stumbling in. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You called for me, sir?" she asked.

"Yes," he confirmed, and pushed Joker over towards her. "I need you to show my friend around. I figured it'd be good for the both of you."

Mabel smiled shyly, and looked over to Joker. "Yes, of course. That won't be a problem."

Bruce nodded. "Thank you, Miss Sacarello."

Joker patted Bruce's shoulder, and waved back at Lucius with the other. His hand remained faintly touching Bruce up until the moment he began walking away with Mabel.

"It was nice to meet you. Hope to see you before I get going," he told Lucius. He moved to Mabel. "Lead the way."

Mabel turned to walk out with her gaze to the floor. Joker followed her, but made a second to wink back at Bruce. 

Bruce smiled a little as a flare of heat made his way through him.


	13. The Redhead, The Jester, and The Brunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as we are merely one month away from our one year anniversary, I bring good news for everyone!
> 
> I have been writing out multiple chapters at a time and currently have a few stocked up for posting. Therefore, updates will be more frequent and faster than in a while! So stay tuned, everyone, because we're getting into the good stuff.
> 
> Next up on my list, I would like to thank a new friend of mine for their wonderful art work!! It makes me so so happy when you all comment and do things like this. It really does make my week, and writing this so much more worth it. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with this. I can't wait to hear what you have to say foe the rest. 
> 
> Alright, I'm done. Enjoy, loves!

"Alright, the tapes."

Bruce was rushing. He could feel it in the way his fingers shook while he brought their computer over to Lucius.

"How fast can you get them done?" he asked, and even his voice had a stressed lull to it.

Bruce paused them a few minutes the point between the glitch and the ending. It was a bit difficult to do with the way his hands made tremors.

Lucius tilted his head and sat down across from the computer, but said nothing. He only stared at Bruce with a contemplative look in his eyes.

A jolt went through Bruce's heart, and he found himself to be dizzy. Lucius was going to back out. 

"Is something wrong, Lucius?" he asked, and surprised himself with the steadiness of his voice. 

Lucius tapped at the chairs upholstery, inhaled, then said, "What are you up to, Bruce?"

The adrenaline rush he was going off of wore down with the question. Bruce put on his best face of stoicism.

"I won't have you involved in this," he answered vaguely, intentionally leaving out the _more than you already are._

"As far as I'm concerned, I already am. And don't think I didn't notice you bringing that strange man here on the same day as you wanted me to do this. It's not coincidence, and I know it."

Lucius pointed to the screen, then crossed his arms over his chest. "If I'm correct, that appears to be Arkham Asylum."

Bruce pressed his lips into a tight line as though that could stop him from saying anything.

"Bruce, do not tell me he is some random inmate."

Why was it that Lucius and Alfred were so invested in treating him like a child? Bruce felt like he was about to be sent to his room and grounded for three weeks.

"He's not...random," Bruce picked out, internally wincing. "I have it under control."

Lucius nodded, and he bit his bottom lip. "Uh huh."

"Leave it, Lucius," Bruce spat. "It's not worth it."

It almost appeared that Lucius was going to continue his argument, but he sighed and made his way over to the laptop anyhow.

"This will take me an hour; two if it was done professionally."

Relaxing his posture, Bruce sat down in the chair across the desk. "Good."

He slumped down into the seat, leg jumping up and down. He checked his watch to mark the time, and sucked in a breath. Part two of the plan was in motion.

Bruce could only hope Jay's side was going better.

\-----

She hadn't spoken a word.

That was the whole point of being undercover, he guessed. She wasn't exactly supposed to give away her identity like a grandmother being scammed into giving away their credit card information. He supposed he would have to give her that much.

Joker forced himself not to say something completely out of character. He kept in side step with Mabel, but the seemingly timid Wendy's girl lookalike continued to speed up every time they fell in line together. Her eyes remained glued to the floor, and her arms were pressed into her sides.

The lady was more strung up than Bats. Joker was almost convinced that if she tried any harder that she would end up caving into her own body. An interesting sight to see, but that wasn't exactly what he was looking for right then.

Besides, Bats - Bruce, he reprimanded himself, but the thought of calling him that made Joker tingle - would most likely strangle him if anything like that happened.

The idea of provoking her crossed his mind. Bruce would do something like that. He was good at that type of thing. Taking action, and all that, being part of his job description. Joker was more of a make one of his lackeys do it for him type of gal.

Thinking on it, he was surprised he hadn't slipped up yet. Usually he fucked up when it came to speaking in a causal manner, but he had to try, he supposed. Joker cleared his throat to begin speaking. He took note of the way her posture straightened out with the faint sound.

"So," Joker began lamely. His vocal chords scratched with the effort it took to keep it low and steady. "This is the place, huh? Old Bruce good to you guys here?"

Mabel looked over her shoulder to where he was, but averted her eyes before too long. She nodded quickly.

Joker nearly made to groan his frusteration. He kept up a placid expression, but scratched at his pant legs to settle his nerves. The moment he realised the nervous tick, he shoved them into his coat pockets.

"Might be taking up a job offering. Working in the office, you know? I'm just not sure if it's a good environment."

Mabel showed him a thin smile, but continued to remain silent. The only saving grace was that she finally moved. He took it as a good sign, even if it was only pick at the fuzz on her blazer. 

Joker filled his cheeks with air like a pufferfish. The fake whiskers tickled his nose when he did, so he wiggled it, but had to quickly return to a normal face was Mabel spun around to face him. He chuckled.

"Sneeze," he lied smoothly.

"Mm," she murmured, and even the small sound was enough to make Joker go crazy with intrigue.

This suspense would be the death of him. 

Joker cracked his knuckles as Mabel showed him into the top floor lounge. He needed to get a handle on himself if he were to get anything out of her. 

"I've only been back in Gotham for two days," Joker said.

He went for the coffee maker with the hopes that Mabel would trail behind him. He pointed to the cabinets and raised a questioning expression over to her. She went and picked out a mug for him.

"Thank you," he said, and smiled. "Anyway, I was just wondering; I heard some rumour about Bruce getting into some trouble."

Joker sipped at his coffee without care of how it would burn his tongue. He swallowed it and gulped down the bitter taste with the only the smallest of a grimace. Whoever had brewed it had done a terrible job. He made a mental note to tell Bruce that they really needed some sort of cappuccino machine. With this in mind, Joker took another drink.

It was near imperceivable, but Joker caught the way Mabel's eyes widened. If he had to guess, he would have to call it panic. 

Mabel lifted one shoulder at a half attempt to shrug. Her chin tilted down to her chest, finger circling an old coffee stain.

"Trouble ain't the half of it, Mister," mumbled some guy clearly annoyed by the racket Joker was making. "Wayne killed a guy. ' _Allegedly,_ '" they tacked on as an afterthought.

Joker made a shocked noise around the mug, pretending to cough on his drink, then placed it down on the counter top next to him. 

"That's terrible," he said with a mock frown.

Mabel affirmed her agreement with a small shrug. She turned to look around the rest of the room. To anyone else it would appear to be an awkward motion for someone uncomfortable with their situation, but Joker could see it for what it was.

She was looking for an escape. Not because she knew who he was. If her employers had known Joker and Bruce were working together he was certain that they would have made some kind of move. 

Whoever they were probably expected Joker to have gone on the run rather than stick around with the Batman for a month.

Joker himself was still questioning why he had actually stuck around. The first week was difficult, having had nothing to do. Bruce was a poor sport when it came to any sorts of fun.

That didn't come as much of a shocker though. Bats was never much of a relax and have fun type of guy.

The case was what he had reasoned at first. Life on the line and all, it was probably better to stay put, even if it were with the most boring person in the universe.

That was all something to think about on another day, Joker scolded himself. He already had enough to deal with.

Joker didn't know if he recognised any of Mabel's actions. He knew he _knew_ her, and that she most certainly wasn't some shy intern. He just couldn't place who else she could be.

Joker cleared his throat, and asked,"Out of curiosity, why is it being placed on Wayne? I can't imagine him hurting a fly."

"It happened here while the boss was in," mumbled some other person. They tossed the old paper at Joker's chest. "Now shut up, will you? Some of us are trying to work."

Joker's cheek pulled. Tough crowd. He pulled up the paper and scanned his eyes over the headline. He'd read it before when Alfred had brought down all of the old articles for him, but seeing the image still jarred him.

"Damn shame," he voiced quietly. "Did you know him?"

Mabel bit her bottom lip and shook her head no. She'd started working there only a week before Cunningham's death, Joker remembered. He narrowed his eyes.

Gasping out of the open, Joker put his palm to his forehead.

"Ah, geez, I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot sometimes!" he chuckled. "I don't think I caught your name."

Mabel's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Her mouth gaped before it upturned into a half smile. Both of her eyes turned a steely color in what Joker recognised as a dangerous barrier. In his line of work he'd seen it often enough to feel a shot of adrenaline. The prospect of a fight tended to follow that look.

Nearly making him flinch back, Mabel stuck out her hand. With her other hand she pushed her glasses back up on her nose. Joker took it, but made sure to pull back before either of them could stay for too long.

She introduced herself quietly, saying,"Mabel Sacarello." 

Joker had to strain to hear her, but caught it in time to make his own greeting. "Jack Hall. Good to meet you, Mabel."

It was in that instant that Joker became aware that there were other people on the room were still glaring. His eyes shifted, slow at first to determine if there were any threats - a habit he'd picked up over the years - then swerved around to look at them all. Joker leaned in to whisper to Mabel and placed a hand over one side of his face.

"Is it just me, or are they all staring?"

Mabel shrunk in again at the words. She turned away from all of them. "They're working."

He held back from pointing out that this is the _lounge_. If they needed somewhere to work they could piss off back to their offices.

"Ah," he mumbled, half to himself. It was beginning to make sense why Bats had hired them. "Anywhere less judgemental we could go?"

Mabel cleared her throat behind her fist, and tilted to look up at him. Somehow it felt off, the way she took position. 

"Maybe," she admitted. "There's an empty conference room down the hall. But I'm sure you'll be wanting to get back to Mr. Wayne soon.

Joker made a _psh_ noise. It brought her attention back to him, and he shrugged again. "I'm sure he's busy still. He'll call when he's done. Besides, I signed up for a full tour."

Although she appeared a bit hesitant, Joker could see the calculating look behind her mask. Her fingers traced around a dried coffee stain circle. 

"Alright," she agreed finally, and Joker noticed the edge that had entered her voice.

Mabel chewed at her bottom lip as she twisted back towards the hallway. She looked back over her shoulder at Joker.

"Come with me," she said, though it came out as more of an order.

Joker took a step forward, then faltered. His eyes opened just a little less than an inch as the words settled in. Goosebumps raised up his arm hair, though it felt a lot more like pinpricks.

His diaphragm burned with the effort it took not to burst into laughter.

_Ah._

He allowed himself a smirk.

"Forgot my coffee," he played it off, and turned back to grab it.

Joker stared down at the scalding liquid. He watched his reflection in the milky surface, and grinned.

_Now that is funny,_ he thought.

"Alright! Where to next?" he turned and pointed along the way. 

He ignored every bitter side eye from the other employees.

\-----

Lucius sat aross the desk with the light of the computer glaring against his face.

Bruce watched his lap while his leg jumped up and down. He picked at the callouses he'd gained over the years to relieve the heavy rush of his blood in his ears. 

Every sound that wasn't the click of computer keys was sending him over the edge.

Wherever Joker was, Bruce wished he would hurry it up. He never took too much time on his own schemes, but it felt like it had been twelve hours since he'd last seen the clown. 

Technically, Bruce had more hope that Joker would take his time to investigate. They needed to be correct about the details, and if he wrongly identified Mabel it would all be over. So, yes, he would rather Joker took his time, but even then-

Bruce pinched down on his thumb's pressure point. The harsh point of pain served as a welcome distraction.

He didn't know if he could stand another minute of waiting around for Joker to return. Bruce had half a mind to go looking for him.

Part of the stress came from Lucius. Bruce wished he could keep Joker away from him, but, just the same as Alfred, there was no way it was going to stay secret for long.

Speaking of whom, Alfred had not called or messaged Bruce. The last time they had spoken was just before he'd passed out on Joker's mattress.

Adding on to that was that the process of recollecting the scrubbed information was going a lot slower than Bruce had anticipated. 

Lucius looked over the top of the computer laptop. He huffed at Bruce's jittery distress, but proceeded to work.

"Relax, Bruce. No need to get fussy."

Bruce scowled, and argued a short, "I am not _fussy._ "

"I'd believe that if you'd stop looking at the door every five seconds," Lucius raised. "Waiting for this 'Jack' character to come back?"

When Bruce refused to answer, Lucius heaved a sigh. He veered into another topic, sensing that Bruce wasn't going to be very big on sharing his thoughts.

"Why did you take so long to come to me with this?"

"I couldn't risk putting you in the line of danger," Bruce mustered, only just meeting Lucius's gaze. His hands curled over the arm rests.

"Couldn't implies past tense," Lucius repeated in a lull of curiosity. "Is there not a threat anymore?"

A grimace pulled at Bruce, and his lips pulled back some. He chose not to answer that, but could tell Lucius was able to figure that out on his own.

"I know you, Bruce. Whoever this... _Jack_ is, I don't like him. But," added Lucius when he saw Bruce's small look,"I trust you, and if you think he's good enough to come here, I'll respect that."

Bruce had to laugh at that, and he rubbed his smile with his hand. "Do you and Alfred just have dinners where you talk about me? You sound exactly like him."

Lucius's shoulders shook as he snorted. "Brunch, actually."

Bruce's shoes looked very inviting while he smiled, so he looked down to stare at them. It was less than a second later the door clicked open and shut. He froze, smile going rigid.

"Well," said a deep voice. "I could definitely go for some brunch."

Different tone, but same characteristics, Bruce immediately fell back and looked around at the Joker. The costumed clown patted Bruce's shoulder, then plopped down in the chair next to him.

"What do you say?" Joker shot at Bruce. "Stop and get something to munch on after this? I'm starving."

Bruce pushed aside the unnerving calm he felt when he realised it was Joker to let his annoyance fester.

"It's nearly one in the afternoon, _Jack_ ," he said dryly.

Joker went to kick his feet up onto Bruce's desk, but was quickly shot down by a swatting hand. Lucius looked between the two curiously.

"Then we'll go to Dunch," he suggested instead. His eyebrows pulled. "Linner? Oh, wait: Sinner. Because of supper. Wait, that wouldn't work."

Bruce held in his urge to smack Joker over the head. He shot a warning glance at him, but Joker's grin tipped Bruce to pinch him. It earned a hiss of surprise followed by a pout.

"Uncalled for," Joker whined quietly.

Choosing to ignore that, Bruce took a second's glance at Lucius before shifting to lean towards Joker.

"Did you...?" he whispered, as though Lucius couldn't see his lips moving.

The smallest of smiles crossed Joker, and he shimmied forward close enough that they could feel eachother's breath. 

"Yep," he whispered back. "And let me tell you, it is going to blow your bat print socks off."

Bruce narrowed his eyes in a near threatening manner, and Joker sucked in. He tutted and mouthed sorry, then glanced at the continuously working Lucius.

"Just because I'm working doesn't mean I can't hear."

Joker cringed and lifted his hand as a shield between Lucius and them. He pointed a thumb with his other hand.

"I think he might be on to us," he rasped.

Bruce couldn't help but roll his eyes. He outwardly grunted his annoyance then pushed Joker's hand down.

"He knows you're in on it."

Bruce acted like he didn't see Joker's mouth open just a little. He also acted as though his heart didn't give a wrenching twist.

"I-" Joker choked. He threw his arms into the air, then fell back over the chair. An overly dramatic hand shaded Joker's forehead, but moved down to pull at his beard soon after.

"I cannot believe you," he exhaled. "I am flabbergasted. Absolutely bewildered. Here I was thinking this was serious and you're just giving us up willy nilly. I'm disappointed, darling, I really am."

The slip of nickname made Bruce sink in on himself, heat rising up his neck. He knew it wasn't serious - well, maybe, but he really didn't want to think about those implications - but the heavy gaze Lucius had when it was dropped caused a feeling of embarrassment Bruce didn't know he was even capable of. 

Even Joker looked like a deer caught in the headlights with the tips of his ears painted a light pink. Bruce averted his gaze when he realised he had probably been looking for a little too long.

Lucius turned to Bruce, and his elbow found its way onto the tabletop. He pointed an accusatory finger at Joker.

"Who in the hell is this?" he demanded.

Bruce heard Joker make a small noise in the back of his throat. The next second he felt the tickle of a beard by his ear. 

"I think he knows my name isn't Jack," he provided, rather unhelpfully, if Bruce might add.

Deadpan, Bruce twisted to stare at Joker until the clown retracted on his own accord. He sighed. Both faced Lucius with expressions ranging from blank to nervous.

"I already told you," Bruce started, hoping it would convince Lucius to drop it for just a little while longer. "Who he is doesn't concern you."

Lucius made his way over to Joker, back down to the laptop screen, and finally landing back on Bruce.

"If this works," he said slowly,"then I'm going to see who he is very soon anyhow."

Bruce's stomach sank like an anchor tethering him down. Of all the different things he had accounted for, somehow he hadn't quite come up with actually seeing the footage. It just didn't quite register, he supposed.

Mouth feeling dry as sandpaper, Bruce dragged out a long suffering sigh. He glanced at Joker, who also seemed to be processing this. It only took a nudge for Joker to grin from ear to ear.

"I know I'm usually the one who is asked this, but, you're kidding, right?"

Bruce scrunched his forehead. He leaned over to Joker, defeat scribbled over his face. "What other choice do we have?"

"Uh, I don't know. Take the laptop before it's done loading and book it?" Joker suggested.

"I'll lock it again."

They both ignored Lucius in place for a shared frown. Bruce rubbed over his face in that way he did when he was troubled, and Joker watched. His smile fell when Bruce looked back at him.

"We have to."

"I don't think we do!" Joker sing songed with a pitch of frusteration.

"Since when are you against making a grand surprise?"

"Since it put all of our lives in danger."

"I thought that was what made it fun," Bruce grumbled in what could be perceived as a threat.

"Not when someone else is throwing the fiesta," Joker snapped back.

" _Jay._ "

" _Bruce_."

The pair froze, dumbstruck. Though talked about, neither of them had been all that prepared for Joker to call him Bruce. 

It was just a name. Joker had said it in passing when referring to something about Wayne enterprises in the past, so it wasn't like he had never heard it coming from him. It was a childish thing, really, to be so shaken up over it.

That was precisely why Bruce was so concerned about how fast his heart was racing, or the fact that he couldn't quite get in a good breath.

From the looks of it, Joker was feeling about the same way.

"Er," Joker stammered in a futile attempt to recover.

"Wait a minute," Lucius interrupted, obviously not phased by their lack of interaction. He probably hadn't even noticed. "I recognise your voice. Do I...I _know_ you."

"Well that's great. He's going to figure out before you can even tell him," Joker told Bruce. "Ain't that an unfortunate twist."

Bruce mumbled a few curses. He tugged at his tie, hating how tight it felt, and side eyed Joker. The clown was watching with mild interest, though at this point he was fairly used to Bruce despising his suits.

In a normal situation Bruce was one hundred percent correct about Joker loving a good reveal. The shock and possible fright from Mr. Fox would have him on the floor.

Except Bruce was pulling on his tie and running his palms over his pant legs like they were clammy, and Joker couldn't stand the way it made him jittery. 

"Damn it, just watching you is making me nervous," he growled in a rare show of his agitation.

He paused to look at Bruce again, and caught the small gape seconds before it switched to his neutral. Joker pulled on his own tie.

Fuck Batman.

"You seem like a smart guy," he told Fox,"so I'm going to let you have a good guess. What's another word for jest?"

Lucius blinked. He stared at Joker, and it was clear to see every single emotion glazing over him through the minute.

He pursed his lips and rocked back in his chair. Looking a bit tense, he murmured, "Bruce?"

Bruce cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"Did you, by any chance, lose your god damn mind in the last two months?" Lucius asked, perching his hands together calmly.

"Oh, I think that happened a long time ago," Joker added and grunted when Bruce's elbow found his gut.

"It's complicated," Bruce reasoned, but even he didn't look convinced about that. 

"Complicated?" Lucius repeated. "You brought the clown prince of crime into your work place!"

Joker snorted, but shut his mouth upon seeing the glare coning from the both of them. 

"Since when has-" He paused to a whisper through gritted teeth,"the _Joker_ known your identity? Or have you two secretly been pals for a while now?"

For his part, Joker made a wistful sigh. "I like to think we've had a very special connection from the moment our eyes met."

"Jay, this is not the time," Bruce scolded.

"Agree to disagree."

"About that," Lucius jumped in again, flinching when they moved to stare at him in sync. " _Jay?_ You have to be kidding."

"Aw," Joker giggled. "I think it's sweet. Really shows how he puts his heart on his sleeve."

"I will punt you," Bruce grumbled.

"Boys!"

Joker and Bruce rested back in their seats. Lucius voiced his scoff, and indicated to both of them. He struggled for a second to find words, then ended up shaking his head in place. 

"What could possibly make you work with..." Lucius raised, waving around towards Joker. "This?" 

"Hey," Joker said. "Clowns are humans too."

Bruce's feet slid slowly under the desk then pulled back up to repeat the motion. "I admit the situation is less than ideal."

He caught Joker's narrowed gaze, and shrugged in half apology. Joker waved it off as if to say _understandable_.

"You're working with one of Gotham's most notorious killers and your number one enemy like it's just another case. I would have to say that 'less than ideal' is an understatement," Lucius provoked.

Joker chuckled under his breath. He placed his chin on his hand and grinned goofily at Bruce. 

"You call me your number one enemy?" he trilled, biting his lip.

Bruce pulled Joker's hand out from under him, then smiled when Joker nearly tipped over the side of the chair. 

The jumble of curses flying at him stopped when Joker readjusted to actually look at Bruce. His expression fell to a small gape at the sight of Bruce smiling and laughing at him.

Joker made a frustrated noise then pushed Bruce away. He grinned when he got a push back, but the fun ended when Lucius knocked on the desk.

"Sorry," Bruce apologised.

"I'm not."

They decided to ignore that. Bruce dropped his hands into his lap, and exhaled. "We were forced into a bad situation with each other. This wasn't exactly a choice either of us took."

Lucius' body language remained completely neutral, but it was easy to see how distressed he was. Bruce's heart dropped.

"You don't need to know any of this. I've already said too much, actually," he continued. "From here on all we need is the footage, then you don't have to have anything to do with this again. Okay?"

"I've been in this since you first let me in on Batman, kid," Lucius sighed.

Taking the moment to look at Joker, Lucius tapped on the desktop. Joker smiled. He waved.

"Hi," he greeted lamely.

Lucius raised a brow, then looked at the computer. "Doesn't matter. The video has been restored."

He flinched when both Joker and Bruce leapt up and over the tabletop. Joker's close proximity to Lucius obviously made the man uncomfortable, for he moved closer to where Bruce stood.

"I'm not contagious," Joker kid, and smiled down at Lucius. "Other than my smile, of course."

"This is all of it?" Bruce pushed on, completely dropping that topic.

Lucius seemed hesitant to say. Whether it be because of the Joker looming over his shoulder, or because he didn't feel like moving on from the subject yet. However, seeing both of their eyes glued to the screen, he gave in.

"Yes," he informed. "And before you ask, I am 99.9% percent sure."

Bruce caught Joker's eyes on him. Both shared a small smirk. Bruce watched Joker look away and point to the screen. He stood for a few more seconds before doing the same.

"So what are we waiting for?" Joker exclaimed. "Let's grab this puppy and get out of here."

Bruce agreed with a low hum, reaching forward to grab the laptop, but Lucius grabbed his wrist and lowered it.

"I'm watching this."

Bruce's eyebrows knit together. The obvious concern he felt at putting Lucius in danger radiated off of him. Lucius looked as though he was to argue, but before he could Joker had put his hand onto Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce followed the arm up to Joker's face. He felt Joker's thumb brush against his collarbone, and he nodded once. 

Stomach knot coming undone a little bit, Bruce focused on the task ahead. He patted Joker's hand, and it lowered back to Joker's side. It left a burning feeling where the rest of his skin went ice cold.

"Turn it on," Bruce ordered at last.


	14. Tapes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello everyone!! Wowza, we're going a lot faster now. 
> 
> If you're bothering to read this, I have an important announcement!! I have created a discord for anyone who reads this to talk with fellow batman/snig fans!! 
> 
> To join, copy this link! Go to the create new server option, and there will be a "join new server" place where you can paste it (:
> 
> https://discord.gg/wDdVAr
> 
> Anyway, thats all. Enjoy the chapter!

Just as it had before, it started with the main courtyard of Arkham. 

The grainy texture of the cameras made it difficult to see the rest of the area, but it was obvious to see that no one was there. 

Small flakes of snow came down from the sky and coated a thin layer across the grass. It was the one difference that had shown up as of yet. Bruce felt a boost of confidence with the knowledge that at least that had been covered.

"Is there any way to go through this a little faster?" Joker brought up, and waggled his finger at the screen.

Wordlessly, Lucius pressed a button. The footage sped up just enough that the smallest movements were still visible.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Joker sit down on the edge of the desk. He himself bent down in a crouch to be eye level with the screen.

Other than dead branches shuffling in the wind, nothing was happening. Bruce could feel himself getting tense in anticipation. The glitch was near.

A guard strolled across the yard. They held their baton close to their chest, as if they were prepared for an attack at any given moment. Being the middle of the night, it was more than a little odd. All of Arkham was shut down from the inside out at nine exactly every day. 

They were expecting someone.

The guard turned and marched over towards the camera. In a flash they were out of view; stuck in a blind spot. 

Across the way, up on one of the points on the East wing entrance, a blur of color shot up. Bruce's eyes widened, and his shoulders rounded.

"I thought you said you didn't escape on your own."

Joker looked back with an expression mirroring Bruce's. "I didn't."

Going silent, the two put their full attention on what was happening. At that point the Joker had slid down the rooftop to the guards post and was sneaking around behind the poles. His coat tails dragged in the snow and made trails as he ducked down and across the yard.

Film Joker turned his back to the camera to watch the guard atop the first tower. The first guard who had walked through made a reappearance. They must have yelled something, for Joked went rigid. A gun was pointed at him. Neither one of them faced the camera.

The present Joker leaned in closer to the screen. He slid down to Bruce's level as well. An indistinct noise came from him. He paused the footage.

"That's not me," he said in a state so matter of fact it near jolted Bruce.

Lucius huffed from up in the chair. "And why should we take your word on that? This could just be your way of shaking us off your trail."

Joker made his own laugh, though his was far more harsh. "Firstly, I cannot believe you just said that with a straight face, so, kudos. Secondly, I appreciate how highly you think of me. But that's not me. Maybe."

Bruce snapped around, _maybe?_ on the tip of his tongue, but was silenced by Joker's palm. 

"Trust me on this one," Joker pleaded with him.

His face gave nothing away other than blank arrogance. Bruce trailed to where Joker was chewing at his gums, then took note of the way his nails were scratching at his coat pockets.

Bruce's hardened expression fell away. He blinked, then nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Keep it playing."

"What?" Lucius questioned. He was obviously shaken by Bruce's sudden trust. "You believe him?"

Joker's lips turned up in the ghost of a smile. Bruce's nostrils flared with his head shake, and he nodded over towards the laptop again.

"Just play it, Lucius."

_God help him,_ he thought.

It began running up again, starting with Joker laughing. Though there was no sound, the shake of his shoulders made the movement obvious.

Bruce went to inspect every other aspect of what was going on. He eyed Joker's hands, then arms, then followed up with the colorful socks over those floppy black and white shoes. 

Nothing seemed out of place. Even the tattered look of his coat looked exactly like what Joker wore on a normal basis. Every hair on his head was in place. His gloves were in perfect color. There was even a small golden pocket watch hanging down to his pant leg.

The guard made a sudden move when the Joker started to turn around. He didn't even get in a 180 before the bullet had hit directly through his chest.

Joker's knees collapsed underneath himself, and he dropped to the frozen ground. Blood soaked the white snow to dark red. It looked almost black under the moonlight. He struggled to move for a few seconds, but it ceased within one shaking gasp. 

Bruce gulped. A sickness made him dizzy watching the guard check Joker's pulse, but it was clear that he hadn't made it. Nausea forced Bruce to close his eyes and breathe deeply.

When he came back to himself the guard was flipping Joker over. They moved in the way, speaking hurriedly into a radio, but cut off when one of the men up top in the towers ran over.

The radio was dropped to the ground as the first guard pointed to the corpse sprawled out. Whatever it was they were saying didn't seem to convince the other. The watchman saw Joker's face and backed up a little bit, reaching for their own radio.

The guard rose and stepped over Joker's body. They removed their gun, pointing it to the watchman, but Bruce was no longer paying attention to that.

"Pause it," he ordered.

Lucius did so right away. He glared at Joker, who raised his hands defensively.

"What? It's not like I came back from the dead just to spite you."

"That could have been faked, easily," Lucius argued. 

Joker laughed at that. "Fine. I admit it! I pretended to kill myself and intentionally deleted the tapes so you specifically could get them back for me. Fantastic detective skills. I'm surprised you haven't been promoted yet. Bravo."

"Shut up. The both of you," Bruce added for good measure. 

"But, Bruce," Joker whined, sounding irritated.

Bruce couldn't help the way his stomach lurched hearing his name from Joker again. 

Despite the complaint, there was no more speaking. Bruce squinted at the computer, then found the way to zoom in. He made his way to where Joker's face was, and froze it there.

His entire body went into a similar state as he recognised the features.

Veins were popping up alone his exposed neck like lines of ice. The skin was blotchy from cold, and shining in a glazed, sweat soaked way.

Over that, it definitely wasn't Joker. Scrolled in as far as he was, Bruce could clearly see the brown roots coming from the body's scalp that Joker's natural green did not have.

"It's not him," he informed, and turned back to look at Lucius.

Joker barked a laugh and stuck out his tongue. "See? I told you," he mocked.

For his part, Lucius scowled and directly asked Bruce, "How do you decipher this?"

"This guy has dark roots," Bruce explained, pointing to the sides of his face where the brown grew in. "Joker's hair is all natural."

He decidedly left out the part about the veins. Without knowing what it meant, or if it even meant anything at all. Maybe he would bring it up to Joker later, but Lucius was not on a need to know basis. 

"And mine looks better, if I do say so myself," Joker butted in, splitting a grin. 

"Seems a bit far fetched, don't you think?" Lucius cautioned. "It could be a trick of the light. Or maybe he doesn't actually have _naturally green_ hair?"

"Lucius," Bruce warned,"don't question this. It's not him. That's the end of it."

He didn't give Lucius a chance to continue. The recording played on from where it was left off.

The guard pulled out their gun and raised it to shoot the watchman. He fell down horizontally, head first, his blood mixing in with the fake Joker's.

Bruce blinked to stop his eyes from crossing when it started rewinding. Joker was doing it. Bruce grabbed his hand.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, going to fast forward.

"Will you stop it?" Joker argued, and this time it was his turn to swat away Bruce. "Just watch this carefully."

"Do we have to?" Lucius grumbled. "I'm not a big fan of watching gruesome murders on repeat. Your hobby, not might."

Joker gaped in fake sarcasm, exclaiming,"Wow! Did you hear that, Bruce? He actually made a joke! And not a half bad one, either. Reminds me of the first day you did. Good times."

"I have to say," Lucius told Bruce,"I admire your strength towards being able to put up with him."

"Just replay it already."

It started off from where the guard stepped over the body. Once again there was indistinct yelling, and the watchman pulled their walkie out.

"Here," Joker pointed.

Bruce narrowed his gaze in on what was happening. Just the same as before, the gun was pulled out, and the watchman was dead within a solid second. He paused it.

The watchman had fallen sideways, he realised. Whoever the guard was stood in front of him, and it appeared that the blood was coming from the side of his skull.

"Someone else shot them," mouthed Bruce, and reeled the tape back to be certain that that was what he saw.

Sure enough, when the watchman fell it was from an impact to his right. No hole was visible from where the guard's angle was either.

Joker shot Bruce a look, and smirked. A fuzzy feeling joined the usual roar of adrenaline in Bruce's chest. Despite himself, he returned it.

They kept quiet to continue the footage. The guard dropped their weapon in the snow, and turned back around to where the fake Joker's body was lying. While falling to their knees, they looked over to where the other shooter supposedly was. 

Whatever they were saying was heated, hands flying all over the place. The guard pointed to the camera, then to both of the bodies. Tips of blurry shoes appeared just off of the screen's view. The vague waving of a gun towards the bodies only responded in the guard to stand and stalk over to them.

Someone else showed up next to the shoes. The guard pointed at the shoe person then back to the bodies in a way that Bruce could only decipher as stress.

Dark hands rose to place themselves soothingly over the guard's shoulders, though the gun still rested within their grasp. They were shoved away. The guard stepped back. Even with the poor camera quality it was easy to see their tremors.

The next set of movements happened as quickly as the last, if not more so. The third party - also wearing a security uniform, Bruce saw - removed the shoe's weapon from their hands and fired in a quick succession. The first guard's body was added to the pile.

"Damn," Joker mumbled, raising a brow. "Wasn't expecting that."

"Wait a second," Bruce held. "It's not over."

The two left were engaged in some sort of calm conversation. The other guard eventually handed back the gun, and the pair of shoes disappeared.

The new guard made their way over to the security cameras. Unlike the previous one, this one had a shield over their face that only high security teams got. 

They removed the camera from its socket. Looking down at the offending object, they tinkered with the back. It glitched out a bit, then cut out completely. Static echoed back at them for a seconds. Then it turned back to the video from where it had been cut; stuck in a loop.

Joker and Bruce exchanged a glance, mouths pulled tight, silently communicating their equal thoughts.

Bruce tapped along the edge of the desk, and pushed himself up. He slid over to the other side of the table, closing the laptop and dragging it with him.

"I need to watch it again," he uttered into Joker's ear, away from Lucius' view. "I have an idea."

Spinning on his heel to face Lucius, Bruce was met with an uneasy expression and crossed arms. He put up a curious one of his own.

"What's on your mind, Lucius?"

Next to him, Joker turned to sit on the desk. His knees knocked against Bruce's legs. When he caught Bruce's gaze he nodded back towards the doors.

" _Let's split,_ " he mouthed.

Bruce held up a hand at his side for Joker to wait a moment. His eyes were trained on Lucius, who appeared to be pondering his next words.

"I'm not sure about this plan of your's," he came up with, and stroked his mustache.

Joker brushed up on Bruce when he leaned forward, laughing. "Really now? I wouldn't have guessed. Truly shocking."

Bruce placed his hand on Joker's shoulder. It was his turn to calm the other down. If it was what he thought, he could swear he felt Joker's breath hitch. It seemed to have worked though. The clown backed down, mumbling to himself.

"What else do you suggest?" Bruce questioned.

Lucius eyed the laptop, then the hand resting on Joker. He huffed. Bruce knew exactly what he was going to say before he did, and frowned.

A part of him agreed. Joker was proven to be dangerous and unhinged at any given moment. For all Bruce knew, he was being played into another long joke.

"The plan is already in motion," he told Lucius. "We aren't giving up now."

Joker shifted under Bruce's touch upon the slight emphases on _we_. Cool fingers wrapped their way around Bruce's to drop his hand. They lingered for a second too long. 

"You could get yourself killed with this," Lucius replied, scowling. "I know you've done some dangerous things, Bruce, but this is just plain crazy."

Well, he was right about that, Bruce agreed. Working with a psychotic clown who was deemed to be his mortal enemy was more insane than half of the things he'd done before.

Still, it wasn't as though it hadn't happened before.

"Thank you for getting this for us," Bruce thanked. "We have to be going now, though."

They didn't wait around to hear Lucius' argument. Joker put up his Jack face again and strolled alongside him without a word.

Internally, Bruce wondered when _I_ had turned so casually into _We._

\-----

They didn't risk pulling off to the cave.

Joker was twisting around in his seat to see the gates open and the gardens surrounding the manor like an overexcited new puppy. 

He had taken out the contacts some time ago, so his eyes glimmered in the reflection of the cherub statue's water.

"Are you done yet?" Bruce said, exasperated.

Joker dug through his pockets, tongue stuck out in concentration. He made a triumphant noise when he secured the penny.

"Any wishes?" he asked Bruce. "I'd be happy to throw in another one for you."

Bruce's eyes were lidded and his mouth was down turned. "That's not how it works. I have to do it myself."

Pausing to consider this before shrugging, Joker said,"Suit yourself, then," and closed his eyes to mutter his wish.

The glued on beard made it difficult to see, but Bruce could still identify the tiny smile Joker had. His stomach tied itself into knots when one eye flicked open and winked over at Bruce.

The penny was flicked into the waters with a splash. Alfred would remove it later, no doubt. It was the thought that counted.

"Dent's always been better at that," Joker continued as he sauntered over to Bruce. "Too bad he's a pretentious douche. _Lawyers_. Tch."

Bruce sighed and followed closely behind Joker. He didn't know his way around, and it was obvious to see, but he was still attempting to prove that he knew what he was doing. Bruce rolled his eyes.

"This way," he muttered and directed Joker through the winding rooms of the house. 

They ended up in the kitchen with Bruce rifling through a box of makeup removers. He had no clue what he was looking for, seeing as disguises weren't exactly his forte. Frustrated noises were bubbling to the surface. Bruce leaned his weight on either side of the kit.

A form pressed faintly up on his side. Bruce could feel Joker's breath tickling his ear while he giggled silently. His arm made it's way around and picked up what Bruce had been looking for. Heat rushed to his face when he met Joker's close smile, and took the bottle with a scowl.

"Don't look so arrogant," he grumbled and pushed Joker away.

Joker sat himself up on the table top and grinned, smug. "Don't look so grumpy."

Bruce didn't say a word. He pulled at his tie with one hand - it always got in the way of _everything_ \- but it wouldn't loosen. His cheek twitched, and he pulled more aggressively.

"Woah, there, Batboy, take a breath," Joker scolded and pushed Bruce away. 

He swiftly and easily undid the offending cloth and tossed it over a nearby chair. Joker wiggled his shoulders, but stopped when he saw Bruce's expression.

"Why the face, darling? It's only a tie."

Bruce looked down. The tightness he'd felt hadn't gone away with the tie like usual. He twisted his hand around the bottle.

"What the hell is this stuff anyway?" 

Joker, brushing off the subject change, snatched it away from Bruce, and grinned. He waved it in the air.

"It's rubbing alcohol," he said in a mocking manner.

All color drained away from Bruce. He turned away, and scratched at his face. "Just get it off already."

While Joker chuckled and applied the alcohol to remove the glue, Bruce sat opposite to him with the laptop. 

He rewatched the security with his eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Well, other than the murders, fake Joker and strange veins, of course.

"Pardon me."

Bruce jolted at the same time as Joker yelped and hopped slightly. A newspaper was slapped down between them. They each stared at it, at eachother, then up.

"Just because Master Bruce is allowing you to wander around the manor like a stray he found on the street does not mean you can sit on my furniture," Alfred scolded. 

Bruce smiled a little at Joker's wide eyes and rigid form. Half of the beard was hanging down to the side and swung limply from his cheek.

"Well? Off you go," Alfred ordered and cuffed Joker over the ear in a way that made Bruce's memory bank grimace.

Joker slid down and slunk into a chair next to Bruce mumbling something about Alfred being a stuck up fun killer. He sent a rare glare towards Bruce when he heard the quiet laughter.

"And what do you think you're laughing about, sir?"

Bruce's shoulders, on automatic, hiked up to his ears. A flush came over him. "Alfred-"

"Don't Alfred me, young man," Alfred snarled in a tone veering very close to dangerous. He tutted and signaled for Bruce to follow him, eyes on Joker the whole way out of the room.

Bruce sent Joker a glance. He received a thumbs up for good luck seconds before he was dragged into the next room.

"Are you out of your right mind?" Alfred hissed once out of Joker's hearing range.

He spun around with his arms planted firmly behind his back. Anger flared in his eyes, chin jutted out.

Bruce shook his head. He didn't have time for a lecture right then, and wasn't all the way certain he could even handle it. Knowing Alfred he also knew there wasn't any getting out of it. So, Bruce sighed.

"I don't know what you mean, Al."

One of Alfred's eyebrows arched spectacularly. Really, it should be considered a talent how far he could make it go.

"Do not be daft, sir," Alfred pointed out, but the sarcastic aggression from it made Bruce's teeth ache; like biting directly into cold ice cream and having to deal with the piercing freeze that followed.

Bruce's throat felt dry as he said,"This is about Joker again."

"No, sir, everything is fine with the maniac in our home," Alfred said. His eyes drooped. "What has gotten into you? Bringing that clown up into the manor?"

"I've brought him out to Wayne Enterprises in front of all of my employees and a possible suspect, Alfred."

It felt reasonable enough to Bruce. After all, bringing the Clown Prince of Crime to his workplace was far more dangerous than into the safety of a secluded manor. Not to mention one that belonged to the literal Batman.

Still, guilt ate at Bruce upon spouting the half truth. Biting down on his tongue, he rushed, "And he's already been up here."

Alfred blinked. He laced his fingers in front of himself and walked towards Bruce, head inclined.

"I am aware," he answered simply. "But it's only been one month, sir. I simply find it hard to grasp how much trust you've placed in him."

Part of Bruce wanted to argue that it had technically almost been two months, but he wasn't going to mess with that route. 

Instead, Bruce's mouth twisted into something between a grimace and a sneer. "I don't trust Joker as far as I can throw him, and you know that."

"Do I?" Alfred rose. "I've seen how far you can throw. Maybe you should begin to consider that your words ring more true than you think."

Poor choice of words. It didn't matter much anyhow, seeing as the accusation had struck a chord deep within Bruce.

Adding to that, a dreadful idea popped into his head that nearly made Bruce sick.

"Does this mean you're not going to help us?" he muttered. 

Alfred's eyebrows pulled together. "Of course I am, sir. I'm just saying that- well."

Bruce felt the need to stumble back when Alfred took a single step towards him, but stood a firm ground. Alfred smiled a little.

"I just want you to keep an eye on him, Bruce. If not for yourself, then for me. I can't have you dying on me."

Bruce's chest ached at the words. With everything going on he hadn't taken Alfred's point of view into account. Shit.

Nothing seemed to come out, stuck in the back of Bruce's throat as though he would choke if he tried, but Alfred seemed to understand. 

"I'll be upstairs if you need my assistance," he muttered in that soft voice he got sometimes; the one he got when he was trying not to show his concern. 

Bruce watched him walk out with a wave of fresh regret attempting to swallow him whole.

God, he was stupid. He was so, _so_ stupid. Every time Alfred talked to him recently he had lashed out on something that had nothing to do with him, and not once had he stopped to think about what was happening there - too wrapped up in his own bullshit.

"There are you, _Master Bruce_!" Joker bowed in his best impression of Alfred himself. 

He looked up with a grin. It faltered immediately.

Bruce stalled in his spot. He hadn't realised he had been walking back towards the kitchen during his internal self bashing, so finding Joker standing before him was enough to make him shudder. He was way too distracted.

"Well, geez, darling, at least give me frown. You look like a beaten dog." Joker's smile wobbled down. 

Bruce noticed that the wigs were gone, and that the makeup had also been removed. All of the familiarity that was the Joker stood before him from the tips of his mussed up hair to the pale skin damaged by acidic waste. 

It spread a warmth through Bruce that he cursed himself for.

"See anything on the security yet?" he forced through gritted teeth.

Shrugging, Joker grabbed Bruce by the lapel and dragged him over. "No. But I wasn't paying attention, so. Eh."

Bruce huffed and sat down, then slid a notebook over. Meanwhile, scooting next to him, Joker rewound the tape.

Focus, Bruce told himself. Put the case ahead of everything. Nothing else mattered. He scribbled a few words they already knew to make a point of this.

"Hey, chin up, doll face," Joker said and knocked Bruce's head up with a finger.

Bruce turned away from the grinning Joker quickly and squeezed his pencil hard enough that it would snap.

"I haven't told you the best part," he heard Joker continue.

Curiosity sparked Bruce, and the memory of their original mission popped up. His eyebrow lifted.

"Sacarello?"

Joker grinned wider, and he squirmed in his seat. "I think I know where I remember her."

Bruce waited in silence for Joker to say his theory, but it was clear that nothing was coming without some sort of show. Of course he was feeling ' _theatrical._ ' 

"Who, pray tell," Bruce forced himself to grit out, annoyed at the amused snicker,"could she possibly be?" 

Joker cleared his throat, and clapped his hands together. "You're gonna love this," he winked.

"Just tell me already, Ja- Joker."

Joker, though a smidge downtrodden by Bruce's demanding tone, sniffed in a dramatic way, then put his palms up and flat out for Bruce to see. He wiggled his fingers.

"She's a security guard."

Bruce's heart - which he hadn't realized had been beating so hard - slowed to a near stop. His shoulders caved inwards.

"Yeah. I guessed that."

Joker's bottom lip jutted out, brows furrowing, and he mirrored Bruce's deflated posture. "At least let me finish before you completely ruin the reveal, will you? You're so gloomy."

Bruce grunted and waved for Joker to continue. This time there was no build up; only a forlorn sigh, and Joker crossing his arms.

In his grumpiest voice, Joker mumbled,"She worked the guard the doors for my cell during psych evals, or something. I think. Who knows."

His eyes kept shifting over to Bruce in wait for reaction despite the attempted betrayed look. When Bruce looked back at the right time Joker's ears turned a light dusting of pink, and he turned away with a bigger frown.

Bruce's organs were doing loops for multiple reasons. He cleared his throat. "You're saying she's one of the guards on the tape?"

Joker shook his head and his hands went crazy flying through the air. " _No._ Like I said, she guarded my cell in intensive treatment. _Away_ from the courtyard. I thought bats were supposed to have good hearing."

"Will you stop being a dick and help me with this?" Bruce snapped, shoving Joker halfway out of the chair. "I get that. But there is a possibility, right?"

Joker, trying to recover from his 'near death experience,' as he was talking to himself about, rested his elbow on the table facing Bruce. He shrugged.

"Doubtful. Only people with high clearance can get around the place at all times."

Bruce glared at the two dead bodies and the approaching second guard. His finger tapped the desk while he thought. It was then that he realized something, and his muscles tensed.

"We don't have high security clearance," he mumbled. Dread clawed at him. "We need full access to Arkham the whole time."

As Batman, that wasn't a problem. He wasn't an inmate. If the guards didn't let him in then the vents served their purpose, but Joker couldn't do that without getting caught, beaten, or worse.

"Yep!" Joker confirmed with a cheerful pop.

Bruce allowed himself to fall face flat on the table, and groaned out his distressed. He felt Joker's hand pat his back.

"No worries, my dear. I have everything under control."

Bruce slid to look where Joker was smiling down at him. Frusteration prickled at him as well. He used the feeling to pry himself up into a tall position.

"In order for us to investigate Arkham, we need a few key things," Bruce started with a hand raised to count off fingers much like speaking to a child. 

"One," he marked off,"to get you in. That is in motion. Two, a reason to be there: Mabel. And three, to investigate. And what do we need to investigate?"

Joker hummed and tapped his chin. "Well, gee willikers, I don't know the answer to that one, doc! Tell me, please?"

He batted his long lashes in an innocent look, and Bruce scowled. Joker tried his best not to break with a laugh. He still couldn't quite comprehend that he had met the only real person in existence to _scowl._

"Access to all of Arkham, all the time," Bruce finished behind clenched teeth. "Which is, apparently, something you left out in our extensive planning."

Joker puffed out a breath, then shrugged again. "Well, on one hand, yes, I did leave that out. Will you stop looking at me like that? I can feel your headache already. Jesus."

He pressed a finger to Bruce's forehead and watched with amusement as Bruce deflated his earlier expression at the touch. His spine tingled.

"Anyway, back on me. I only left it out because I knew you wouldn't like it. Obviously I was right, or else you wouldn't be giving me that look again. Heh."

Joker smiled, twitching when Bruce made a gruff noise of disapproval.

"But don't worry!" he rushed in a last minute saving grace. "I had a plan all along! All we need to do is set it up. And hope it works. And try not to die in the process."

Bruce didn't seem any more excited than before with the new revelation. In fact, he seemed even less enthusiastic. Joker bit his cheek.

Still, Bruce reasoned with himself that whatever the plan was, it was probably their only option given the short time span.

"What is it?" he forced himself to ask, already regretting the decision when Joker perked up.

"You're not gonna like it," Joker said first, and the glimmer in his eyes confirmed that statement further.

"Do I have a choice?" Bruce asked. 

Joker grinned.

"Nope."


	15. Laundry Day

He did not like it. He loathed it with every single fiber in his being, actually.

Bruce kept going through the reasons why they had to as though it would eventually keep him from throwing himself onto the road. The only problem with this was that the pro list seemed incredibly short compared to the never ending problems with actually going through on it.

They needed access in order not to get caught, he reminded himself, but the dull monotone of his own brain only served the purpose of making Bruce even more disdainful.

They also needed someone as an escape. Somehow the option they were going with sounded a lot more dangerous than getting shot at by the police, or whatever assassins were trying to kill them.

The fact that Bruce was sitting in the passenger seat of a stolen car was really not helping to lighten his situation.

Or the fact that Joker drove like he acted; absolutely insane.

Bruce, arms crossed tightly over his chest, turned to glance at the madman. The calm look on his face as he just nearly missed the sidewalk made Bruce slink further down into his seat.

_"No," he'd growled only a few measly hours before._

_Joker slumped down and over towards Bruce. "Oh, come on, don't be a sour puss. It isn't that bad! Besides," he drawled,"what other ideas do we have here?"_

_Bruce remained firm in his stance, but that only seemed to strengthen Joker's own resolve. He stuck out his chest and placed both hands on Bruce's shoulders._

_"Pretty please?" he provided, smiling a tiny bit._

_"What could possibly make you think we won't die?" Bruce snarled. He shoved Joker away._

_Joker clicked his tongue, saying,"What could possibly make you think we would?"_

_"They despise you."_

_Joker's face screwed up, and he lifted a finger. He considered this, then squinted. "Okay, alright, I see your point. I think the wording is a little harsh, but I get where you're coming from."_

_Bruce rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. "In a hypothetical situation where we don't die, what could possibly make you think we would get any help?"_

_"Well," Joker posed, then blinked. "What other choice do we have?"_

"Will you stop looking at me? Your face is distracting," Joker chided, then giggled and looked at Bruce. "Seriously, you look like shit."

Bruce pressed his forehead into the window. It was too dirty to see much out of. Even his seatbelt didn't work. The cushions were so flat that he sagged down into it. Each person they passed looked at the car as though considering they were about to highjack it.

He hated this part of Gotham. Not because it was dirty, or so crime filled that it was almost completely uninhabited by anyone who had a choice to go, but because Bruce couldn't do a thing about it. Fighting the crime wasn't enough to get these people off of the streets, and his money never went the way he intended it to, no matter how hard he fought with his lawyers about it.

It made Bruce sick.

Joker, on the other hand, didn't seem to care all that much. He was humming away to fill the silence of the broken radio, fingers tapping on the dashboard with the beat. 

Bruce went to itch his cheek until remembering the stuffy beard glued on it. He withdrew his hand and frowned. He would much rather have grown his own. Their timing wasn't exactly beard growth friendly, though.

He'd thrown on his most worn out - and comfortable - sweatershirt and sweatpants. They were technically the main pair he wore for studying, but Joker didn't need to know that. They blended in just fine for the crony look.

The streets began to brighten up some when Joker took a curve. The wheels skid across the pavement and knocked over a nearby trashcan. 

Bruce, unprepared, fell over while one hand grasped out desperately for one of the overhead safety bars. It wasn't there. 

God he hated this car.

Before he had much more thought put into this, the vehicle took one more spin down the next block. 

Bruce distantly heard a grunt, then felt the warm laughter against him, and came to the sudden realisation that he'd fallen on top of Joker. The car was stopped, disgusting fume smell intoxicating the air, and there Bruce was looking at the Joker pinned to the corner of the door.

"Nice view," Joker said, but Bruce couldn't tell if it was a question or not.

Either way, he responded by grumbling and pushing himself off of Joker with a harsh shove. They both landed back down in their seats huffing. The engine shook the entirety of the rust bucket.

After a full thirty seconds of recovery, Bruce finally took to looking where they had landed. Stationed in a badly done parallel park, they had ended up on a sidewalk just down a narrow street lined up with small businesses. Most of them appeared to be closed or broken down in some way. Only one or two people loitered the streets, and even they were just stealing.

" _This_ is the place?" he said, clear doubt lacing his tone.

Joker let out a laugh, and Bruce looked over to see him peeling off his wig. He shook his head afterwards then threw it into the back seat.

"Of course not," he stated as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You really think they'd hole up in this absolute dump?"

"Obviously not," Bruce grumbled and turned to get out while Joker did. "That's why I asked."

They'd looked in three other "for sure" places already. In China Town they had been run out by an angry store owner after Joker knocked over two vases and a whole painting in one go.

Joker leaned across the car hood to grin at Bruce. It was like opposite day, but only if opposite day meant living each other's lives in various costumes, and with a lot more danger involved.

"Lighten up, will you? Nothing is going to go wrong," Joker assured, then giggled.

Bruce knew this part of Gotham. It was one of the lower parts of The Narrows where the GCPD didn't even bother to touch. The gangs ran these streets. Somehow he doubted that everything would go completely smooth.

"Right," he replied anyhow. 

Joker snickered. He nodded over to one of the buildings, and grinned back at Bruce to follow. The skip in his step added with his cheery whistle made Bruce's skin crawl more.

Based off of the sign out front, the building was an old laundromat. The front windows were broken and the door swung open on its singular hinge. 

Bruce watched with a wince as Joker attempted to make his way over the broken bits of glass.

He looked back at Bruce once he'd made it inside, and called,"Don't wuss out now, darling, I've seen you master worse."

Bruce shot Joker a singular glare before turning his full attention to avoiding all shards he could. Every crunch made his shoulders hike up more. All they needed was for one of them to injure themselves on broken windows.

Once close enough through the shop, Joker grabbed his arm and yanked Bruce over the remaining threshold. They stood in the silence of the empty washers. It wasn't until Joker cleared his throat that his hand dropped.

"I can't remember exactly which one it was, but I know it was over here," he pointed while striding towards the back of the room. "Hopefully they're still here."

Bruce froze next to the washer Joker was knelt in front of. The clown blinked up at him, then chuckled.

"Did I mention that this is only four out of seventeen?"

Words did not begin to describe the way Bruce's anger bubbled inside of him. He gaped at Joker in an attempt to form some, but all that came out was a strained croak. He was sure his palms would have bruises in the shape of his nails later.

"Don't," he burst when Joker rose to explain himself. It seemed to be the only thing he could muster.

Joker laughed quietly, and moved on to the next washer to let Bruce come down. He kept glancing over, looking ever so slightly nervous.

Good. The asshole could stew in that feeling for all Bruce cared.

It took a long fifteen minutes, but Joker finally found what he was looking for. Bruce had taken to sitting on top of one of the machines to watch. He wasn't willing to help after finding that there may be nothing to look for _again._ Joker's triumphant cry nearly ripped out his heart.

Joker's smile beamed up at Bruce an aisle away. The expression calmed Bruce's racing pulse a little. He hopped down and made his way over to where Joker was blabbering away.

"What?" he deadpanned.

He leaned against the washing machine. Joker snorted his excitement, then waved Bruce away. He raised his hands in defiance.

"I get that you're mad, okay? I get it. But," he wiggled,"at least forgive me a little for this."

"I'd consider it if I knew what the hell 'this' was," Bruce frowned back.

Although not amused by that comment, Joker's hands searched down the side of the washer. He grunted, then grinned when he found whatever it was he needed. Joker wiggled his eyebrows. 

The top popped open as it should, but there was no interior. Bruce had no time to look inside of it. The front part squeaked, then pushed itself out and out onto the floor tiles. It led down to a dark set of stairs.

Bruce's wide eyed interest made Joker smile wider. He moved his hands to rest on Bruce's shoulder, then rested his chin there. They stared down into the dark.

"Told you it was impressive."

"Technically you just lamely asked for forgiveness," Bruce muttered back. He twisted his head to look at Joker resting on him. "But I'll take it."

Joker's ears did that color dusting he got sometimes. He let go of Bruce in favour of motioning down. 

"Care to go first?" he offered, bowing.

Bruce bit his bottom lip, trying not to smile, suddenly glad the beard was there to hide the motion. He stepped down and ducked under the first ledge. Finding it safe to stand after, Bruce straightened out and took a weary step downwards. The stone crumbled a little in the darkness. 

"Careful," he said in a hoarse whisper up to Joker. He could feel the clown up against him then. "It's too dark to see in here. Don't trip."

"You sound worried, darling," Joker mocked and snickered. 

Despite this, Bruce felt a hand rest gently near his for support. He took it without a word, and found the silence to be an okay to keep moving. Slowly, they descended the walkway.

Though it took what seemed to be a shaky eternity, the ground levelled out to cool stone. Bruce let out a breath even though he still couldn't see. Joker shifted next to him. Their hands remained loosely intertwined.

"It would have been nice to know it'd be pitch black down here," Bruce tsked while they felt their way down the tunnel.

"How was I supposed to know? Every time I'd been down here it'd been with a light of some sort. I just figured they were always on."

"Who in the hell has their lights on at all times?"

"Remember that killer moth guy? Bet he does."

Bruce couldn't help a snort at that. He turned his head away to hide his smile out of habit, only realising after that Joker couldn't see it anyway. Joker was silent on his part. Somehow Bruce had the strange feeling of being watched.

"Ow, damn it," Joker hissed out of the blue. "What was that for? I didn't even say anything mean this time."

Bruce's steps faltered. "I didn't do anything."

Joker followed in slowing down, but scoffed anyhow. "Well something flicked me, and you just happen to have a habit of that."

Choosing not to respond, Bruce's grip tightened on Joker's. His eyes narrowed to try and see through the darkness. He switched his senses to adapt, first focusing on the feeling of Joker's palm pressed against his, then turned to the sounds of the area around them.

Joker's breathing had settled down. He must have realised what Bruce was trying to do. Other than that, he couldn't hear a single noise. The silence was almost suffocating due to the blanket of blackness around them.

A few feet away a pebble moved. Bruce's body shifted in the way it always did when put under danger, and he found himself immediately pushing Joker up against a nearby wall. The sound of a dagger landing where they had just been standing pierced through the quiet like a tidal wave.

Bruce had approximately half a second to react when he felt something wrapping around his ankle. Without letting go of Joker, Bruce lunged for the knife and threw it back to where it had come from. Someone yelped, and the offending object reeled back.

"Fuck," he heard Joker say.

Joker's hand slipped out of his in one fluid motion, and Joker swore louder, followed by the crack of a body against concrete. Bruce pushed himself over to it, but wasn't fast enough to escape.

Bruce crashed onto the wall behind him, groaning when his head hit it, but didn't bother to fight it. Bruce fell limp knowing he'd be kept up no matter what.

The lights were blinding when they were flicked back on. It took Bruce some flashing colors and a small headache before he could see again. He sighed and stared blankly at the two standing ahead of him, then down to where Joker was being stepped on.

"Ivy," Bruce greeted, then flicked to the other woman. "Harley."

Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn stood side by side with each of them wielding an arsenal of weapons. They both bore daggers at the Joker pinned beneath them.

Harley popped her bubblegum. She and Ivy shared a look. Dark green eyes stared at Bruce while blue turned down to Joker. Harley indicated her mallet upwards.

"Who's the brute?" she asked Joker, digging her heel into his exposed jugular.

Joker giggled, but it strained when Ivy's vines tightened around him. He looked over at Bruce with a tiny smile.

"Looking at the good side: They definitely here!"

On one hand, Bruce couldn't help the smile he got seeing Harley getting her well deserved revenge over Joker; especially with Ivy standing right by her side. On the other, Bruce couldn't tear his gaze away from the sharp shoe only inches away from killing him.

"Don't make this complicated," Ivy drew out, lips curling in disdain when she saw Joker's face.

"It's not exactly simple," Bruce started having forgotten that he wasn't behind the suit. Reasoning with those two without it was not going to go well.

A single vine snaked its way up to point its thorns by Bruce's eye. He didn't look at it once. He remained easily trained on Joker's body.

Although intrigued by this, Ivy didn't falter in saying,"No one asked you."

"Actually," Joker interjected,"he's kind of important for... something. Er."

There was just the slightest bit of panic behind his voice, but the women didn't appear to notice. Bruce met Joker's quick gaze.

"Don't waste our time," Ivy threatened.

Joker didn't budge. By now he would be blabbering about it to whoever would listen, but Bruce could tell by the continuous glances he was getting that Joker had absolutely no clue what to answer.

_"Sorry, ladies, didn't mean to pop in unannounced. See, I've been living with Bats for about a month and a half now (who's actually Bruce Wayne! Crazy, right?) because someone is trying to kill us and we can't figure out who so we came to you for help to break in and out of Arkham because, well, who better than you? Anyway, this guy is Bruce, who is actually Batman, who right now is dressed as a broke drunk guy. Following me?"_

Actually, Bruce thought, that was probably on point with what Joker was going to say.

"Come on, Mister J," Harley said and dropped the mallet over his chest. She twirled the handle, pouting. "We don't wanna hurt'cha." 

"Sorry, babes," Joker slipped, and tried to shrug through the vines. "Just don't have anything for you."

The pair glanced at eachother again and Harley gave a sharp nod. Ivy lifted her hand to Harley's face, gave her cheek a quick touch, then turned her attention away; directly to Bruce.

_Ah, shit._

Ivy stepped over Joker and made her way over to Bruce. Flowers popped up along the cracks in the floor behind her, and a sweet smile fled up on her. 

Distantly he could hear Joker trying to say something, but Harley shut him up as soon as it came.

Bruce couldn't look anywhere but Ivy with his head completely wrapped up in vines. He knew what was coming when she put her hand through his hair, then stroked down his cheek and to his chest. He put up his defense barriers against her toxins as best as he could.

Voice smooth as honey, Ivy whispered,"I need you to tell me why you're here with the Joker, baby."

The heavy scent of something sickly sweet infiltrated Bruce's senses. His fingers tingled and his brain short circuited, but he made certain to keep himself somewhat in check. He gasped out a strained breath.

"Work," he allowed himself to answer.

A flash of annoyance struck Ivy at the same time as her vines squeezed Bruce. She laughed like a wisp of wind; soft and delicate and so very comforting. 

It was quite the opposite of Joker's laugh. He was loud, and airy, and snorted when he tried to rein himself in. 

Bruce's fingers stopped tingling, and he felt his head clear some even as Ivy's fingers danced up to play with his beard. His gaze slid over her shoulder to Joker.

"Please," Ivy breathed in his ear, almost in a beg. She pressed up against him, soft hair tickling his nose. "For me?"

Bruce blinked. Nothing happened. Honestly, it was a bit boring. Joker's shocked expression made up for that. Bruce smirked, then winked for good measure. Joker croaked.

"Leave it, Ivy," he told her, who was now holding his jaw. He tugged away the best he could. "It's not working. But I'll explain if you let us go."

Ivy took a tentative step back. She looked Bruce up and down, her face scrunched up in her aggravation, but didn't allow it to affect her thinking.

"What do you think, Harls?" she asked, and looked back to the other girl. 

Harley chewed her gum with consideration. "I don't know. Why should we?"

"He was able to deflect my toxin," Ivy answered smoothly. She looked Bruce up and down."Intriguing. I'd like to see where that leads."

Thinking on this, Harley shrugged. "Fair enough. Do what you think's best, baby. Just leave Mister J to me."

To further her point, Harley toed Joker's cheek to the side to better inspect his face. She laughed at the lack of makeup. It made him sneer.

Ivy whirled back around to Bruce. A long, sharp fingernail pointed at him. "Any objections?"

Bruce watched Joker being teased. His stomach pulled at the idea of leaving him there, but his brain reminded him of their main purpose. That, and the fact that Harley definitely deserved to have a little alone time with Joker.

"No."

Ivy smiled a little when Joker made a short objection. She pulled her vines away and patted them for a good job. They slunk away on their own.

Bruce rubbed the back of his head. He followed Ivy over Joker. He only spared him a quick look.

"You're not really going to leave me here with her," Joker called. "What if she kills me? She's crazy!"

"So are you," Bruce reminded, unable to help the taunt. The last noise he heard was Joker's offended scoff. Bruce smiled.

Ivy led Bruce into a door just off of the small room they had just been in. It opened to a set of stairs not too long. They both went up. The only sound was that of the creaking floorboards. 

Bruce found himself to be in an apartment-like complex. There was a sofa, a coffee table covered in old magazines and cups, a kitchenette and a bed pressed into the middle of one wall. For the most part it was fairly homey. It was better than he'd ever made out of his hideouts.

A cup of something was pressed into his hands. It smelled like green tea. The kettle and bags set out on the countertop confirmed it. 

"Thank you," he said, but didn't take a drink.

Ivy sipped at her own. She lifted up sugar, but Bruce denied it. She shrugged. Her cup was set down while she lowered herself into an armchair next to the couch. Her legs crossed, and her eyes narrowed.

"Sit," she ordered. "And speak quickly. We're not expecting someone."

Bruce didn't feel the need to argue it. He took a place on one of the couch cushions where he was situated to look at her. Ivy hummed.

"I've never seen one of Joker's henchman ward off my abilities like that," she started. "Usually they're too stupid and lustful to try. How're you different?"

"Perhaps because I'm not one of his henchman," Bruce answered. "We're in business together."

Ivy's eyes glinted in her curiosity. "Joker doesn't play well with others."

Bruce smiled somewhat. "Nope."

"What makes him want to share his toys with you then?"

Hesitating, Bruce picked at the strings on the couch. He worked his jaw.

"We're... We're in a tight spot, at the moment," he worded carefully while processing how to explain. 

Ivy lifted her perfectly manicured hand to rest her chin in. "So? From what I know of him, he enjoys the danger of tight spots."

It was true. In any other case Joker probably would have run off and straight into the storm of bullets with a grin on his face and a firecracker in hand. Bruce was still trying to figure out why he hadn't.

"I honestly have no clue why," Bruce said at long last. 

He met Ivy's sharp gaze with his own steely one. She paused. Then she nodded, and recrossed her legs.

"Alright," she drew. "I believe you. But none of that explains why you're here, or who you are."

Bruce leaned back into the couch. "That's where it gets complicated."

Ivy's eyebrow lifted. "And the rest of that was simple?"

Chuckling, Bruce scratched his cheek. He tilted his head. "Fair enough."

Her hands rapped against the chair in wait. She tilted her chin up, quipping,"Well, then? Go on."

The way she was sitting made her look like some sort of monarch. The light from behind filtering around her was like a crown over her head, and the glow of it lit up her hair like a forest fire.

It was all rather fitting, Bruce supposed. There was more than one reason as to why she was seperated from others at Arkham, and her ability to impose force was one of them.

Bruce straightened out. He tugged at one of the laces of his hoodie. "Harley used to work in Arkham. She knows all the ins and outs of an employee. It's one of the reasons why she can escape so easily.

With the trouble that Joker and I are in, we need full access to all of Arkham, as well as a full proof escape plan for if something goes wrong."

Ivy quirked an eyebrow up. She blinked and licked her lips. "What do I have to do with this?"

"Nothing, for the most part," Bruce explained. His fingers stapled in front of him. "If anything major goes wrong, Joker is going to need a quick escape. Something that looks like a breakout."

"My plants," Ivy ended. Bruce nodded his affirmation. Her lips pursed. "Why should we consider this for that bastard and some dirty partner of his? I don't even know you."

The edges of Bruce's mouth tugged down. His hands felt almost clammy then, so he wiped them on his pants. 

He had hoped Ivy wouldn't ask that. Logically he had known that she would, cautious a person as she was, but it didn't mean he couldn't hope. He hadn't even expected to make it this far.

"You do. We have history."

Ivy laughed that soft laugh of her's, and her smile dripped poison. "Really now? I'm sure that if we'd met in the past I would have gotten rid of you."

She eyed him up and down with an air of disgust. Bruce smirked. He shifted. 

"Trust me. You've gotten close," he pushed further. 

In the other room, he heard Harley laugh. His hands clenched. Ivy must have taken note because her gaze fell down to it, and she smiled.

"Fascinating," she mocked. Then, louder, she yelled,"Hey, Harls? Come on in here! Bring the old bastard too."

Harley shouted back, then clambered up the stairs. The door was kicked open for Harley to pop her head in.

"Right now? I'm kinda busy, Red." Her eyes flicked to Bruce. She waved and winked, giggling. "Don't worry, handsome, I'm just roughing him up some."

"Harley," Ivy chided, catching Harley again. "This is important. Please?"

Twirling a small dagger between her fingers, Harley sighed and shrugged. "Fine. I'll go get him."

Ivy smiled, kind and open, and Harley responded with a little nose scrunch. The moment the other stepped out again Ivy was back to a neutral expression.

"It's odd," she voiced. "I don't recognise you at all. Yet, you seem familiar. Maybe you are telling the truth."

Bruce kept his mouth shut. He cracked his knuckles in wait, but it didn't take long at all. The door burst open again for Harley to waltz in with a vine tied Joker on her back. She dropped him next to Bruce. The couch sagged.

A cut was stretching from underneath Joker's eye over to his ear. The streaks of blood under it and across his cheek was nasty, but it covered the light bruises already forming on his cheekbone. 

Joker smiled at Bruce. "Sorry I'm late. Got a little tied up. Heh."

Bruce rolled his eyes as Joker wriggled some under the binds, but turned back to Ivy. Joker was fine. It would sting a little, but he was fine otherwise.

Harley had taken residence to sitting up on Ivy's armrest. She was halfway on top of Ivy and halfway reaching down to the floor.

"So, what's this all about?" she asked, and looked between everyone.

"Joker's friend here says we know him," Ivy said.

"Does he?" 

"You do?" Joker piped up, getting a sideways glare.

" _Yes_ ," Bruce hissed, and looked to the two women again. "Harley and I have even worked together before."

Harley's eyes went round. "Is he tellin' the truth, puddin?" 

Joker scowled, but stopped when Bruce elbowed him. He rolled his eyes, then slumped forward. 

"Yeah, it's true," he replied almost reluctantly. 

Ivy looked up at Harley, who had taken an inquisitive look to her. She swung her legs out, then leaned forward.

"You do remind me of someone," she said. "Doesn't he look familiar, baby? I recognise him from somewhere."

"Yes," Ivy considered. "I had just been saying that."

Bruce's nerves shocked with three pairs of eyes on him. Never before had he been cornered by three of Gotham's most dangerous criminals without the suit, and he was very much not enjoying the attention.

Joker groaned and pressed his face into Bruce's shoulder. "I can't take the suspense any longer. Tell them or I will."

He cleared his throat. "I, er," he whispered to Joker. "I never actually made a plan for what to say for this situation."

Joker tilted his head, then clicked his tongue at Bruce in a way that would definitely have been joined by a disappointed full body wriggle if not for the vines.

"I have to do everything around here, don't I? Watch this." 

Joker wobbled up and pulled a blanket over his head, struggling with it without arms. Finally, he got it.

"Okay, okay, guess who I am," he laughed, and dropped his smile. In a low, raspy voice that made Bruce's chest clench, he said," _Tell me who, or I'll break the other one._ "

Harley and Ivy straightened out at the same time as Joker giggled uncontrollably, and fell back down again. He squirmed towards Bruce.

"No," Harley gasped, covering her mouth. She squealed. "Really? You're Batman?"

Ivy's fingernails scraped across the couch. "You've got to be kidding."

"That's more of his gimmick," Bruce monotoned towards Joker. 

"The Batman and The Joker working together," Ivy forced with a laugh. "I'm surprised Gotham isn't up in flames already."

Bruce and Joker caught eachother's attention, and copied a look.

"Yes, well. It's not half bad," Bruce muttered. "When he's not singing, at least."

"Woah, hey, back up," Joker scoffed. "I'm an amazing singer."

"Sure."

Harley made a sort of gruff noise, and they turned to see her watching sceptically. "You must have a different clown than I had, B-Man. My Joker was terrible."

They glanced at one another again, then away again, flushed. Bruce cleared his throat. He needed to veer away from that subject, and fast. Stay on objective.

"As I was saying earlier, we need to get into Arkham with stealth, and we can't do that without clearance."

"I don't have an eligible ID at Arkham anymore."

"Well, that's fan fucking tastic, isn't it?" Joker sneered.

"Jay."

Bruce turned and slipped a touch over Joker's slowly exposed forearm, blinking at him. _Not the time_ he thought. Joker slumped, pouting off to the side. He didn't interject again.

"Even if you did, it wouldn't work. You know how to get one though."

Harley shifted to sit closer to them, and nodded. Ivy stopped her with a hand on her shoulder first. They all turned to the red head. 

"You still haven't answered my question: What makes you think we'll do anything for you? We don't owe you a thing." 

"Would a pretty please suffice?" 

Joker wheezed when Ivy's plants restricted hard and fast. Thorns poked into his arms, and he coughed, trying and failing to inhale. 

"Piss off," he managed, grin wide with malicious intent. He gasped and closed his eyes against the reflexive watering.

Bruce grit his teeth, and found his blood to be ice cold. 

"Stop," he demanded, ears ringing. "Put him down, Ivy."

The vines snaked further up on Joker, and little ones threatened to enter his ear canals. He was turning an ugly shade of white that didn't fit him in the slightest.

It reminded Bruce of the first day that all of this mess had started. Frozen water sinking deep into his veins, Joker's lips a dry, cracked blue, the feeling of his soaked body hanging limp- 

A tea cup was thrown up, and Harley yelled as the burning liquid hit her face. It smashed the next second, cutting into Bruce's hand as he placed the shard to Ivy's throat. Blood dripped from his palm and onto her skin.

"Let him go," Bruce growled so low that it reverberated through his beating chest.

Ivy's gaze flicked between Bruce's eyes, then fled down to his lips, and over his shoulder to Joker. The smallest smile slid up on her. 

"Ah," she whispered, but it was more breath than word.

Bruce reeled his head back, face turning up with his question, but he was too short to reply. A heavy thud echoed through his skull, and Bruce's vision slipped for just a moment while he fell to his hands.

Harley stood over him with her mallet, but she dropped it to the floor close to his fingers. She slid down and tilted Bruce's chin up, lip stuck beneath her teeth, and hurumphed.

"Y'know, I always wondered who those beautiful blues belonged to. Whaddya say we find out, huh?"

She went to rip off the beard first. It tugged, and for a second all Bruce could hear was his breath, heavy but laboured. Then, the pressure was off, and he was once again grounded.

He turned his head to cough, but caught sight of Joker before he could. Instantly, he launched over, checking the clown's pulse and patting his face. Joker's hand swatted him away.

"So touchy," Joker rasped, and opened his eyes. "I'm starting to think you're trying to find ways to feel me up by now."

Bruce, against his better judgement, lifted Joker into a semi embrace. His blood soaked into Joker's shirt while he whispered.

"Ever pull something like that again and I'll kill you myself."

Joker's shoulders shook as a rattling chuckle found its way to Bruce's ear. "Aye aye, Batman."

Bruce pushed Joker away when he saw Ivy stepping over the stray plants around them. They crept up her legs and onto her arms. Harley joined her swinging a dagger between her fingers. 

Bruce's eyes flicked to the porcelain shards spread across the floor, but was taken away when Joker pressed into his side, then snapped under his nose. He looked over, but was cut off when Joker pointed up to Ivy and Harley.

"It's your lucky day, Bats," Harley said, smiling down at Bruce. "We're gonna help you."

"Wait," Joker strained. "What?"

"I didn't say we're helping you," Harley spit, and stuck out her tongue. "Everything we'll be doin' is for the B-Man. Whatever he decides to share with you is his choice."

She shrugged, then rested her elbow on Ivy to lean on. Ivy crossed her arms and smiled over at her shortly.

"Why?" was all Bruce could manage. 

His head was still spinning from the mallet hit. Nothing was making much sense. He wasn't quite sure if he'd missed something.

Ivy stroked a small flower petal close to her shoulder. "Curiosity. I want to see how this plays out between you."

"Me too," Harley added, smirking at them.

Bruce and Joker turned to eachother, confusion written all over them. Joker shrugged, then winced at the small pinpricks covering his upper torso. Bruce made a mental note to check it out later.

"What, exactly, are you expecting us to play out?" he voiced and squinted up at them.

Harley shook her head. "Sorry, Bat. Can't ruin the fun."

Bruce, cautious to move too fast, made his way up to the couch with Joker on his arm the whole way. He still looked a bit gray. 

"What, then? You expect us to leave without you asking for anything in return, and hope you bring us what we need?"

Ivy sat down across from Bruce on the coffee table. She put one leg over the other. "Not exactly. I'll need a favour if you're going through with this."

"Of course you will," Joker snarked, but Bruce was - thankfully - the only one who heard it.

"What is it?" 

"The gardens are left out of this. And," Ivy leaned forward, and shifted her gaze momentarily towards Joker, "we will be left out of this after this interaction. Harley and I will not be put in the line of danger for whatever your crazy antics are. Clear?"

Bruce had the feeling that if this were broken for any reason that what they had started tonight would be finished off next time. He nodded.

"Fair enough," he rumbled. 

Having finished up with that part of the deal, Joker shot up and clapped his hands together. 

"Great! Now that we've got all that worked out, how is this ID thing going to work? I'm really feeling a quick one and done here."

Each way he got a cold glare. Joker retracted back, smile growing wider while he leaned over to a glowering Bruce. Through the corner of his mouth, he muttered,"Tough crowd."

"Shut up."

Joker threw up his arms then slid one over Bruce's shoulders in a direct copy of Harley's earlier position. "Fine. Be like that."

"If you two are done?" Ivy interrupted.

Harley plopped down next to Ivy, and leaned back. "The ID card will be given to you by a guy named Stan inside. Real stocky guy with a curly mustache. Nice janitor. Don't hurt him," she added, pointing at Joker.

"Don't worry," Joker assured, and bumped Bruce. "I'm on a strict none injured contract. Bat proofed and all."

"Right," Ivy said, though she only sounded half convinced. 

She rose from her seat and made her away around the room. One of the plants opened the door for her, and she nodded out. Harley hopped up too, but didn't stand with Ivy. She went to the window instead, leaning outside it.

"Are we done here?" she quirked, and obviously meant it as a _get out._

Bruce looked to Harley, who was guarding the window, then stood. He pulled Joker up with him, but Joker shoved him away. They made their way to the door. Bruce's steps were more hesitant than his counterpart's.

"Thank you, ladies, for your assistance," Joker said with venom, and bowed to each of them. "Lovely seeing you as always. Bats, let's go."

Though Joker skipped down and out quickly, Bruce stopped in front of Ivy. They met with equal amounts of strength to their stances.

"Thank you," he mustered, and blinked to Harley as well. "Both of you."

Harley shrugged. Her legs swung from the countertop. "Sure thing, B-Man."

Ivy hiked up her posture even more, and nodded. "Best leave now. She won't be happy to see you. Or him."

Oh. Well, shit.

Heart thumping once in his chest, Bruce swallowed hard. He turned and lept down the stairs wordlessly, and bumped right into the Joker.

"Hey, slow down, Batsy dearest. What's the rush?"

"Selina's their guest."

"Oh," Joker mumbled.

The quiet made him giggle, but Bruce slapped a hand over Joker's chest before a word could come out of his mouth.

"If you say cat's got your tongue, I will drag you back in there and let the three of them have at you."

Joker's mouth fell closed with an audible click.

The car was left in the same place as they had left it, much to Bruce's relief. However, the closer they got, the more he could feel his emotions bubble up. He watched as Joker skipped over to the front of the car without even realizing that the clown had been talking.

Bruce slammed the driver's door closed the moment Joker opened it. The sound pushed out through the whole street.

Joker retracted his hand. He twirled the keys back up over his fingers, then fidgeted with them.

"Er- Bruce?" he questioned. "You feeling alright, darling?"

Standing and breathing, Bruce allowed himself to mull over the events of the afternoon. His hand landed on Joker's shirt, and he grabbed a handful of the material. Bruce licked his lips.

"What..." he exhaled. The singular word built up all Bruce needed for biting out,"the _hell_ was that?" 

Joker blinked at Bruce. "I- Isn't that kind of obvious? I mean, you were the-"

He grunted when Bruce slammed him into the car. "Okay. I gotcha. You're angry."

"Ang- You nearly got yourself _killed_ in there."

Joker's cheeks pushed up, and he tilted his head from side to side. "No, yeah. That's accurate. What, exactly, are we all pissed about, then?"

Opening his mouth to bark out his response, Bruce realized that he had no clue why he was so riled up over this. His heart was pounding in his head like the Gotham thanksgiving day parade, and he could not decipher why that was. So, letting go of Joker and stepping away, Bruce went with the first response that came to mind.

"Just get in the fucking car."

Joker's lips parted slightly to answer, but, much like Bruce, didn't appear to have anything to say. He only watched as Bruce pushed him aside and climbed into the passenger side. The wig from the back seat was thrown at his chest. Joker only just caught it.

The car clunked and made strained noises all the way back to the main road. Both of them were thankful for it. If it weren't for that they would have been left to sit in tense silence.

They parked outside a dirty old alleyway and walked a few blocks down the near abandoned street. The actual car was kept safe outside of one of Bruce's frequented restaurants. 

On the way Bruce stripped out of his costume and back into Wayne. Each extra wig was handed over to Joker, who placed them on to be more acceptable.

"You gotta admit," Joker said in a tentative voice.

Bruce glanced over at him as they rounded the corner and were suddenly lost amongst the busy streets of upper city Gotham. They pushed through the crowd to the car, both climbing in.

"What?" Bruce asked, and jammed the keys into the ignition perhaps a little too hard.

Joker smiled over at him. "My Batman impression was pretty damn good."

Bruce glared. He joined the traffic and patted the steering wheel to keep himself from going overboard. He turned to Joker to see him still staring with a big smile on his face.

Swiveling away, Bruce pretended to check the side view mirrors. Heat was rising up his collar.

"It was alright," he muttered.

Joker snorted, and Bruce felt like he was the spotlight of the Firefly's torment.


	16. Talk Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They prepare for phase two.

Phase two was in motion.

After their little visit at the Siren's Den the two had decided that waiting much longer wouldn't work. They needed to move into action. Procrastinating the inevitable would never get them anywhere.

Bruce watched the wall next to him with the same intenseness as he would a suspect. The individual drops of water from the shower and tick of the clock served as a stressful background noise for his already frayed nerves.

He didn't know what had gotten into him. Usually going into huge missions like this he was perfectly fine, albeit a tiny bit sceptical. 

Bruce was standing before he had thought any more. He made his way through the hallway and to Joker's room without bothering to knock. He stepped inside only to find it empty. For a second Bruce felt himself twist into a knot, but he spotted the bathroom light on in that same instance.

"Jay?" he called. The shower wasn't running. He saw a shadow pad across the tiles. "You're not busy, are you?"

The door clicked open, but not all the way. Bruce blinked down at the handle, but didn't hesitate to push it the rest of the way open.

Yellow and purple marked Joker's torso. Angry red streaks from where the vines had constricted scratched up the pale white of his skin like road rash. Where the thorns had broken the skin looked irritated, but most were covered with smiling neon band aids.

Joker was leaning close up towards the mirror. He was placing makeup around his face and around his neck where the injuries were. His eyes flicked to Bruce, then back to himself.

"Yeah, actually," he answered without moving. "But if you wanna sit in then be my guest."

Silently, Bruce took the invitation and sat on the edge of the counter by Joker. He watched Joker dot on whatever it was on his face then smooth it over. His hand rested on Bruce's knee, adding a little pressure, and Bruce took the hint to move up a little. Joker hummed his approval while picking up the blush. 

It was calming just to see Joker work. It wasn't much, he knew, but it still settled his nerves some. The process was so smooth, and precise. Joker's hands were steady with each movement in the way that showed he'd done this a thousand times. Even if it wasn't Bruce's, the routine still had a soothing component. 

"What's with the face, darling?" Joker mumbled as he tilted his chin up for better view of his neck. They both cringed at the bruised splotches.

"I'm not making a face."

Joker blinked up at him, his eye widening, and turned to him. He set whatever product he was using down. 

" _Bruce,_ " he scolded.

Bruce's throat constricted, but he continued to stare Joker down with a hardened resolve. They each froze there, both trying to break the other's stance.

Finally, Joker said,"Calm down, will you? You look tense enough that I could snap you in two. Nothing is going to go wrong."

Lips thinning, Bruce grumbled,"I know."

Joker's hesitant expression said that he thought otherwise, but he didn't expand on it. Instead, he shrugged, and split a small smile.

"Suit yourself."

The cap of whatever he was putting on then popped off. Bruce sank back to watch, but his chin found his chest and he was suddenly staring at the floor.

"I don't know," he mumbled. 

Part of him hoped Joker didn't hear it. He did, of course. Bruce felt more than saw the eyes drilling into him.

"You going to continue or do I have to hit you to restart?"

Bruce lolled over to Joker with a blank glare. "Knowing the answer would mute the whole question, wouldn't it?"

"Alright, alright," Joker raised, hands in the air. "No need to get sassy with me."

"I'm not being _sassy_ ," Bruce spat.

Joker squished his cheek so that his eye closed in thought. "Hmm. Agree to disagree."

Irritated, Bruce turned away from Joker completely. He would have gotten down to walk away, but he couldn't quite bring himself to leave. 

"I'm not very good at this whole 'talking out our feelings' thing," Joker said as he applied some sort of droplet to his face. "So if that's what you're looking for, then I suggest you go find good ol' Al."

Bruce still didn't look over to Joker, but he did shake his head in response to the question. Mumbling into his arm, Bruce said,"I'm not."

He caught a glimpse of Joker looking down at the sink, almost upset. "Me neither."

Curiosity got the best of Bruce. He looked back over his shoulder. "What?"

Joker laughed. It was the rough forced one that made Bruce feel tense. He shrugged. "Nothing, darling. Just keep brooding away."

Bruce stopped to stare for longer than he probably should have, but didn't stay like that. He lifted one knee to wrap his arm around and rest on.

Stuck in silence, the two frowned. 

Despite it, Bruce felt the sudden urge to laugh. Sad, how they'd only been with the other for short of two months. It felt like years. And how ironic that it had started out with pure hate, to... 

Well, whatever this was.

Joker was only looking into his reflection, but Bruce wasn't even sure that he was seeing that much. There was a distant look in his eyes; like he was imagining something far off. Bruce sighed, and Joker's face scrunched.

"We're idiots for doing this," Bruce pointed out. His voice lacked the tease he'd hoped it would.

Joker chuckled. "We're idiots for even tolerating eachother."

They looked away, individually picking at something or other. Bruce noticed then that Joker had put on one of Bruce's old sweatshirts when he had looked away. His shoulders slumped down. 

"Yeah," he agreed quietly.

A shuffling brought them out of their stupor after god only knows how long. Bruce spotted the clock, now at nearly 1:30, then over to the door.

"Hello?" called out Alfred.

Bruce and Joker looked at each other. There was no escape for Bruce at this point. They would be forced to feel like the wrath of Alfred finding them together once again.

"One of us could pull an early 2000's romcom," Joker whispered to him. "Climb out the window, then be forced to hang off of the side of the house until the parent leaves."

"Be quiet," Bruce chided, but he could tell Joker could see his amusement.

Alfred came in with one of Joker's new suit bags draped over his arm.

"Ah, there you are. I figure we should fit you better to this, don't you?" His gaze found Bruce. "Afternoon, sir."

It had no ill intent behind it, but Bruce still felt himself pulling back. Strangely accurate, it felt rather like being a teenager caught with their partner. Joker's original idea was sounding more appealing the more Bruce thought about it.

Joker settled from foot to foot, then clicked his tongue. 

"Sure," he answered Alfred as if the three of them weren't stuck in an awkward staring game. "Hit me up, Alf."

Standing in a t-shape, Joker shrugged off Bruce's sweatshirt - to which Alfred stayed glued to like it were to implode - and shot a smile back to Bruce.

"You sticking around to watch?" he taunted, wiggling his shoulders.

"No," Alfred answered for him. "I need you to stand still, sir."

Bruce wanted to object, but he wasn't quite certain why. He didn't even know what he would have answered in the first place. 

"Oo, I get a sir? How formal. What do you think, Bruce? Am I fancy enough to be a sir?"

That same ache settled deep into Bruce when he slid off of the counter. Joker's smile was engraved with the same feeling, Bruce could tell. He shrugged.

"I don't know," he said, but it felt more like a repeat of their earlier conversation. 

Joker's eyes darkened. He nodded, and his chest fell with his laugh. Alfred began dressing him with the overcoat.

"Fair enough," he mumbled.

They stared at each other. Bruce's feet felt like they were glued to the floor, and he almost wished they were. That way he wouldn't have to go anywhere. Upon Alfred's final warning glare, though, he knew he couldn't stay.

"I'll be outside," Bruce said, and rushed out before either of them could get in another word.

Joker's eyes followed him all the way out.

In the hall, Bruce allowed himself to fall completely to the side. He dragged himself down to the den, then sat down on the window sill with his forehead pressed to the freezing glass.

He could barely see through the frost. Over the night most of the front had frozen over completely so that the cherub statue was iced over. 

His thoughts strayed to the penny Joker had thrown in there. Whatever it was that Joker had whispered to it, he hadn't yet told Bruce. Surprising, seeing as Joker tended to spill his guts to Bruce.

The numbing cold distracted Bruce from that, though. He closed his eyes and inhaled the feeling of cold, his lungs and throat burning in that distinctly winter way.

The place would be so quiet. Bruce wouldn't have to wake up extra early each morning to bring breakfast and papers down to the cave. He could put away all of the old games he never used.

Bruce got up and rolled onto the couch with his face down in the arm chair. A pillow was pulled over his head, and he sighed, closing his eyes.

He didn't remember much else. The cold spot on his forehead was all he focused on, and the dark spots behind his lids.

Faintly, he felt something brush over him, but he felt too groggy to interpret what it was. Something covered him, and a warm feeling brushed back his hair. He didn't dare move, feeling himself hum some, but the warmth disappeared.

Bruce sighed, then settled back into the darkness.

\-----

Every inch of Bruce felt clammy with a cold sweat. 

He groaned as he lifted himself up, and rubbed his face. Whatever type of nap he had taken only served to make him feel terrible. He needed a shower. A cold, icy shower that hurt his skin and made his scalp burn.

A blanket fell off of Bruce's shoulders that he most certainly did not pull onto himself. He recalled the fever dream from earlier of someone coming over to him, and huffed. He picked it up and wrapped it around himself.

Alfred was in the main living area sitting in an armchair. Bruce stumbled in and sat down on the sofa next to him. 

"Good to see you're awake," Alfred greeted, and smiled up to Bruce from his book. "Have a nice rest?"

"No," Bruce answered. 

Alfred hummed, smirking, and closed the book. "It doesn't appear so. Shall I put on a pot of coffee?"

Bruce shook his head and leaned forward over his knees. "No. I have to wake up for later."

He sat up faster than he thought possible with how tired he was. He ignored the black out spinning in front of his eyes, but came back in time to see Alfred handing him a piece of paper.

The question he'd had died off when Bruce took the note. He unfolded it, lungs deflating in on themselves when he saw the particular scratch of Joker's handwriting it. Knowing who it was from didn't make the experience less dreadful.

_Dearest Bat,_

_Remember to turn on the radio tonight (;  
Can't wait to see you there_

_Your's, Jay_

Just the same as the last note Joker had handed to him, a bright red kiss was stained at the bottom of it. 

Subconsciously, Bruce tugged the blanket closer around him. He found the clock, then Alfred. It was 6:00.

"When did he leave?" he asked, and shoved away the feeling lodged in his throat.

"Two hours ago," Alfred replied and tapped the front cover of his novel. "I suggest you get prepared, sir. The main event begins soon."

Bruce's fingers twitched as he crinkled the paper in his hands some. He folded the paper over and tucked it carefully into his pocket. 

Before he could go anywhere he heard Alfred make a strained noise. Bruce found himself face to face with a smiling Alfred, and a gentle hand resting on his.

"Don't worry so much, sir. Joker will keep his promise."

It shot Bruce right through the heart. He was certain the plain expression he wore didn't show his gratitude, but Alfred had figured it out as he always did. He squeezed Bruce's fingers, then sat back.

"Go on, then. I'll make sure you're on time for the radio."

Bruce was up and out within ten seconds. The disgusting way his shirt was clinging to him from the nap was beginning to make him crawl.

Just as he'd expected, the cool shower cleared his mind instantly. It was just what he needed. Eventually he turned the heat up, but for what seemed like the longest time Bruce allowed himself to just stand under the frozen stream.

He took his time getting dressed afterwards. He didn't bother fixing up his hair either, instead aggressively rubbing it with a towel, then pulling on his clothes.

The announcement took place in fifteen minutes. Bruce had to be ready to make his way across the city in a short period of time. He met Alfred standing near the cave entrance, and faltered.

"Everything has been set up, sir," Alfred informed, and clambered inside of the lift. 

Relief washed over Bruce. He stepped next to Alfred. "Thank you."

"Anything to help, sir."

Alfred smiled over at him while the elevator clunked downwards. Bruce laughed a little through his own smile. He didn't know what would happen to him without the butler. He didn't want to find out, either.

As said, all of Bruce's needed equipment was set up on the main table. He went straight for the armour, but when he picked it up there was another note stuck to it. Bruce flipped it over to read.

_Bruce,_

_I helped set this up. You're welcome. And I left a present for you in the cowl. Tell me if you like it later._

_Miss you already,  
Joker_

Bruce scoffed and crumpled the note into his pocket with the other one. He glanced at Alfred, who only shrugged.

"Do you know what he left?" he asked, but Alfred shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no. He was quite adamant about keeping that particular detail a secret."

Bruce grunted his questionable thought. He shook his head to rid himself of the distraction. Not the time. 

Ten minutes left.

He shrugged on the legs and torso first. The heavy weight of both was so comforting that Bruce had to force himself not to close his eyes and breathe it in. The utility belt snapped on, cape coming next. Each one of his weapons had been cleaned and resharpened. Alfred, on top of everything once more.

Unlike the rest, the cowl was light underneath his fingers. Bruce looked into the eye sockets, sighing, then reached inside.

He felt a foreign object strapped to the top of it. A few months ago that feeling by Joker's hands would have sent Bruce into a frenzy, but now he could only manage a small smile. He ripped it out.

A small box lie in his hand. Bruce squinted at it, then lifted the top off. It was filled with peppermint Christmas Kiss candies. Bruce huffed in amusement, but put the box somewhere else. The cowl locked in to place.

"All set?" Alfred asked, and fixed up Bruce's cape for him. 

Bruce humphed, then nodded. Alfred stepped back and raised a brow. "I suppose you won't be back in time for supper?"

Smiling, Bruce answered a small no while checking the clock. One minute. He had to be going. Alfred gave him a push towards the car.

"Tell Joker to be careful," he added as Bruce clambered in. "I'll kill him myself if he tears that new suit."

Bruce smiled a little. "I'm sure he knows."

He watched Alfred wave him off all the way out of the cave. The door slid shut behind him. Bruce exhaled.

Slowing a few blocks from the exit, Bruce held his breath. Jack Ryder's nightly news, he told himself. 7:05 p.m.

He turned on the radio.

"...imagine that?" Ryder's voice came through. "Speaking of which, what's the dish on Catwoman and the big bad Bat? Let's turn to the gossip of the black clad couple and see what's been going o-"

"Oh, dang. I sure hope I'm not interrupting gossip hour. It's my favorite part of the show, really. Heh."

Joker's voice scratched in that deep, threatening way it did when he was messing around. He chuckled, and it made Bruce prickle.

"Can I- yeah." Joker's voice got closer. From the sounds of it he had taken the microphone. 

"Good evening Gotham citizens! Unfortunately, Calendar Man couldn't make it this year. Sorry to disappoint. But don't fret just yet! Everyone's favorite Christmas Clown is here to put a smile on your faces this holiday season."

Joker's laugh rumbled deep through his chest in a way that was the exact opposite of what Bruce had come to know. It sent chills down his spine, and put his senses on edge. The Joker was in charge. Jay was out of the picture.

"To start off this holiday season, I figured I should start off with a _bang_. Eheh.

Everyone here likes presents, right? The big ones are always my favorite. You never quite know what's inside of those, but boy is it always a load fun. Which is exactly why I have given them to my favorite people in the entire world."

Joker got close to the microphone so that every ragged breath he took rattled the speakers. He giggled. "You know who you are, darling."

Inhaling quickly then pulling back, Joker let out a long laugh. "But we'll cross that bridge when we get there! For now, everyone crack open their eggnog and curl up next to the fire. This program is gonna be better than any Hallmark movie you might find. Oh, yeah! One last thing before I let you all go."

The world came to a stop. Bruce was sure all of Gotham could feel the way Joker's smile curled up on his lips.

"Happy Holidays."


	17. Love Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am once again asking you to join the discord: https://discord.gg/UBfmbJk
> 
> two chapters in one day?? what can I say, I'm feeling as generous as Joker is tonight. Here's your very own gift! Enjoy <3

As expected, Gordon was setting the signal up. 

Bruce snuck up behind him, which was surprising with the crunch of snow on the ground. "No need," he announced, and made Gordon jump around.

"Jesus," Jim cursed. He threw down his cigarette. Bruce watched it get stomped on.

"I'm assuming you heard the Joker's message," Batman continued on. 

Gordon grumbled a laugh. "Yeah." 

He indicated for Bruce to follow, then fell along into pace with leading Batman down to his office. The rooftop door clicked shut behind them.

"By now all of Gotham has. People are calling in left and right asking if there will be an evacuation tonight, or what the plan is, how we'll handle this... Crazy bastard," he muttered to himself. 

Batman grunted as they turned a swift corner. No one seemed to mind his appearance with all of the chaos going around. He avoided confrontation at all costs anyhow.

"You're on the guest list for sure," Gordon continued. "Any guesses as to who _darling_ is? I was thinking Quinn is the best bet."

They entered his office with the slam of the door. All of the shades were lowered. Sound from the outside offices were muted on point.

Bruce put on a hard set frown. His pulse fluttered at the memory. "No. I know who that is. I'll deal with it."

Gordon narrowed his gaze in question, but didn't poke the subject more. He started rifling through his case files to make room on his desk for the map of the city to be lain out.

"With Joker's absence these last few months I got too wrapped up in those damn robberies," Gordon rambled. "I was starting to think the maniac would leave us alone for Christmas. Stupid, I know, but an guy can hope."

A weight settle down in Bruce's gut. _Robberies?_ What the hell had Bruce missed while busy with this case?

"The bridge," Batman answered once more. Focus on the task at hand. Gordon looked up with a semi frown. "Trust me. It's all part of his game."

Gordon stood with his hands pressed down onto the map. "How do you figure that? It doesn't make any sense."

Batman's jaw set. "Neither does Joker."

Pausing, Gordon removed his glasses to rub his brow. He sighed heavily. "We're getting too damn old for this," he muttered. 

Batman was halfway to the window before Gordon had even opened the door. "I'll meet you there to find the gifts."

Gordon nodded. He looked so much older than he was standing there with his eyes crinkled and his smile full of discontent. It was a heavy reminder that he would no doubt be out of the game soon. 

"I'ts good to know you're still with us, Batman."

Bruce's insides rolled at that. Thinking about how Joker was out sitting somewhere waiting to finish their plan up made it seem like a betrayal.

Here Gordon was, a good, honest man, one of the only cop's Bruce would ever like - let alone trust any - greeting him onto his side with open arms. An old friend.

Guilt was the only emotion he felt. Unable to bring himself to respond, Batman only grunted and pushed himself outside. 

As he glided up to the top of a roof, Bruce let himself stumble and breathe. Police scanners all over the city allowed him to focus on the mission, but that deep set regret was eating at his every movement.

Batman swung up to a vantage point before leaping off and soaring out. The bridge was far away, and it was difficult to see through the heavy snowfall. Bruce turned on the suit's internal heaters.

Below him, police sirens were heading in the same direction. Gordon didn't waste any time. Even in his age he was more on top of things than half of the officers at the GCPD. 

Soon enough Bruce wouldn't have him on his side, and he would be alone, and Gordon would still think that Batman was his friend. 

Bruce shook his head. He grappled out to the nearest wrung out the bridge and shot himself into the air for a full length inspection. Barricades were being set up on both sides. Horns of protest came from every direction.

There were no gifts left on top of the bridge. Bruce slid down one of the cords connecting the whole thing down to the underbelly. He expanded his wings for a gentle landing. A few officers gawked and leaned over the edge to watch.

"Show off," one of them whispered.

There were sewage areas right underneath the bridge that dumped into the river. It was most of the problem with the water pollution. Bruce had tried to put a stop to it multiple times, but the city mayor only ever shot the efforts down. That was Gotham, though. No renovations; only make it worse.

Bruce clicked on his vision to better see in the dark of the tunnel. He stepped inside and stuck up his nose at the smell. Every sense of his body shut down against it.

A beep came up in his ear. Bruce clicked it on as he felt around the tunnel walls, very glad he had gloves to do this.

"Detective Gordon is requesting you, sir," Alfred told him. The sound of his voice relaxed Bruce ever so slightly.

"Put him through," he said. Another crackle, and he knew Alfred was gone. "Jim."

"We're set up," Gordon came through. The whip of the wind made it difficult to hear much of what he was saying. 

"The presents aren't up on the railings. Search the main road."

Gordon pulled his face away from the phone to bark the order to his men. He came back and asked, "Where are you?"

Bruce swept up his cape so that it didn't drag into the dirt water. It was getting deeper with every step he took. There was no way he was letting Joker get off if the gift was down there. He knew how much Bruce hated sewers.

At least Croc was in Arkham. For once he didn't have to worry about that.

"The sewers," he grumbled back in a displeased way. Gordon chuckled.

"My apologies. I can send some guys down to assist you."

Bruce's hand caught. He stopped where he was walking and looked up at the spot. His lips curled back. 

"Don't bother," he grunted out. "I found something."

It was a small box. Covered in purple on yellow polka dots, it was sealed with an orange ribbon over the top. 

Bruce pulled it down. He ignored Gordon's questions as he unraveled the top, and slid the cover off in one smooth motion.

Inside was another note. It was completely blank other than a crayon drawing of he and Joker ice skating. He flipped it over. On the back was another sketch of a tall building; a hotel he recognised from Miagani Island.

Bruce went to place back the note, but stopped shortly after.

A small Kiss chocolate ribbon that each package came with was tucked in the corner of the paneling. It appeared to have been stuck underneath it. A hidden compartment with the only hint being one that Bruce himself was to recognise. 

Being curious as he was, Bruce tugged at it. The false bottom came up with it to show another tiny note folded up. 

Of course Joker had made a secret note for him. He shouldn't have expected any less. With all the others Bruce should have been looking for more. He unfolded it.

_To My Dashing Caped Crusader,_

_having fun? I know it's probably harder than expected, but I figure I'd extend our day together (even if we are technically apart)_

_stop at the first drawing before the second. I have a surprise set up for you_

_don't worry, I kept your promise, boring as it is. can't wait to see you (;_

_Your's,  
Jay_

Although the word surprise made him nervous, Bruce allowed himself a small smile. There was a smudged line where Alfred had most definitely made Joker flinch away. A tiny heart was next to the printed name on the bottom. Bruce folded it back up and tucked it into an empty pouch.

Gordon was pacing back on top of the bridge. Officers were running around searching the entire length of the cut off area where cars were honking to be let though on either side. When Gordon spotted Batman walking over he raised his arms and stalked to meet him halfway.

"The hell was that? Was it too difficult for you to answer my question?"

Batman held out the drawing. "It was inside a box."

Gordon snapped his mouth shut, though obviously still ticked off about the lack of answer. He truly did hate when Batman got cocky with his detective skills. Gordon scanned both drawings.

"I recognise these places," he said, half to himself and half to Batman.

Batman took the paper back and nodded his confirmation. "Have your patrols head that way, and alert anyone within the area to evacuate."

"I'll call in the bomb squad too, knowing the clown."

Bruce hummed. "Good call. I'm going to head that way."

Gordon shot up from where he was dialing. "Don't you think..." He blinked as Batman shot off, and placed the phone to his ear. "Just forget it. Damn Bat."

The buildings of Gotham were beautiful if one looked in the right places. Each place had such a historic build to it, with the smooth stone and the gargoyles watching over the city streets. 

The hotel Joker had set up for them was one of the most gorgeous places there was, if Bruce had anything to say for it. It reached up to the city skyline and illuminated the street below with the reflection of gold from the horizon at night. During the winter there was an ice rink set up for their guests with a giant tree that lit up those who went to skate. It was truly a sight to behold. 

Bruce must have said something about it in passing. He had gone to that rink as a kid multiple times; a few with his parents, then growing up with Alfred. He'd always loved the way the Christmas lights reflected off of the clear ice. 

Plus, it had been a great place to practice fighting in slippery situations.

Units of police were coming in on all sides to surround the hotel. Guests were being escorted outside and kept in a safe tent.

The first drawing had been the rink, though. While everyone was distracted with getting the residents out, Batman swooped down to the sideline just off of the hotel where a smaller building was connected to it.

There was a plated glass dome over top of the place so that people could watch the snow during their play; high up over the rest of the area so that the tree could stand tall up in the middle.

That odd sense of fake cold hit Bruce when he stepped into the rink. It was completely empty. At first aprehension built up within him, afraid that Joker had broken their deal and was keeping hostages strapped up somewhere, but when he took a step towards the ice he only felt confusion.

A pair of skates were sitting on every entrance. Out of them stuck a tiny note matching to the other ones. Bruce knelt down.

_Put me on!! xoxo._ it read. Just the same as the others, Bruce put it into the empty pouch. 

The size of the skates was perfect for him. Bruce stared at them for a few more seconds, not sure what to do, but the echoing giggle that came sent him straight up.

"They won't bite, darling," Joker said. "Clown's honour."

He skated into view then, just behind the tree. His hair was slicked up and curled to perfection, and smile stretched, blood red. If not for Bruce's knew knowledge he would have thought it was real. 

Alfred's handiwork had done well with the fitting of the brand new pinstriped purple suit so that every move Joker made was fitted to him. 

However, there was a distinct change to his demeanour that made Bruce's heart pound. It wasn't the makeup, or the clothes, or even the wider than normal smile. It was the glint in his eyes, and the telling twitch that always led to bodies with smiles stuck to their faces. Joker was getting antsy.

Based on the almost shocked look that Joker gave him, Bruce must have that same effect as well. It had been a long time since Joker had seen him with the cape on. The tense frown must not have helped either.

Then, Joker laughed and smiled in that small way that was so totally _Jay_ , and Bruce felt his insides melt through the cold.

"We're supposed to be working," Bruce gave up, fighting the urge to put on the skates right then and there.

"We are!" Joker answered. "This is all part of the plan, babe. The people have to panic a little more."

He chuckled, obviously amused at the idea of their squirming, and Bruce sneered. 

"That's not funny."

Joker pouted, and shrugged. "Don't be a Scrooge, darling. It's a little funny." He pointed down to the the skates. "Please? One last dance with me?"

It was an immediate reminder of the thought they were both dreading. Bruce crumpled. The weight of it built up a pressure headache on the spot. 

"You're insane," he accused without any malice. It only made Joker laugh.

He was lacing the skates with an unhappy grumbling when he heard the sounds of someone coming towards him.

He looked up just as Joker slid to a stop over top of him. Up close Bruce could see the cold blush on Joker's nose, ears, and cheeks. Bruce felt himself warm up immeasurably when he received a small smirk.

"You know how?" Joker asked, and offered a gloved hand.

" _Yes_ ," Batman grumbled out.

Bruce took Joker's hand after noting the lack of electric buzzer. He slipped off his balance, but Joker steadied him with an arm around the back. He could feel the shake of his giggles. Bruce's face pulled.

"Fuck off."

Joker snorted and tightened his grip on Bruce's hand. "No can do, sweetheart. We've still got time left together."

Bruce didn't have time to refuse before Joker was dragging him gently along the circle. The crisp air hit him and he inhaled sharply. That familiar burn of his lungs made him close his eyes behind the mask.

Joker looked over at him. After a second of only watching, he smiled.

"How'd you like the present?" he asked, wiggling his brows. Then,"The first one! Not this up and coming one."

To tell the truth, Bruce had completely forgotten about that during all of this. His lips thinned out, and Joker frowned. Of course he knew that expression.

"Damn. I'd really hoped you would like it."

Bruce had a good sense of his balance now. Joker could tell too. Neither of them let go. Safety precaution, Bruce told himself.

"I appreciate the thought," Bruce grunted. "I just don't like that flavour."

Joker humphed. He spun around so that he could go backwards, and took Bruce's other hand. They swung back and forth, swerving.

"Seriously? I always thought the peppermint kind were great."

"It tastes artificial."

"No shit, Batman," Joker crowed. "That's the whole point. Do you want them to give you actual kisses too?"

Bruce scoffed. "Shut up."

"Not in the résumé, m'dear." Joker giggled and beamed. 

They looked down at their hands, faces falling. Bruce sighed. "We need to get back to the plan."

"Need is a strong word," Joker shrugged. He rolled his eyes at Bruce's glare. "But you're right. I guess."

This was it. The finale. The end of almost two long months of insufferable games, and early mornings, and jokes that made Bruce wince. It was the last curtain call for a while. Bruce and Jay were gone. Batman and the Joker were taking their places.

Bruce took a memory of the scene. Joker skating slowly backwards with a grinning, rosy face; the warm feeling of their hands intertwined; the Christmas lights illuminating the room.

It was the last of Jay he would see for what felt like forever. 

At least it was a good mental image.

Their hands fell to their sides, and their skates were slipped off. Joker patted his cheeks, gasped, then forced Bruce to cover his eyes.

"Alright, I need you to count to five."

Bruce slumped. He shook his head, but kept his eyes covered. "Why?"

He heard Joker make an exasperated sound. "Just do it, okay? Out loud."

Internally groaning, Bruce shook his head. "One," he sighed.

He heard a shuffling. Bruce's forehead crinkled.

"Two," he continued.

Joker moved around a little more. Whatever he was doing was far away, but it got closer within the moment.

"Three."

Something was shoved into Bruce's utility belt. 

"Four."

Bruce flinched when he felt Joker move up close to him. His chest caught. A soft peck was placed on his cheek - just barely touching him - mostly a breath of warm air.

"Five," Bruce exhaled.

He opened his eyes. The room was completely empty. Joker's only trace was the skates left stranded at Bruce's feet. 

Collecting himself, Bruce looked at the object placed at his hip. It was another note, though this one was in an envelope. On the top was printed in cursive letters, _Do not Open Until Home_.

Although he was tempted to open it there, Bruce knew full well that Joker would kill him if he did. So, he placed it in the pouch now dedicated to the letters. Bruce heaved a breath to relieve the pressure from his chest.

That was it. They were ready. Above him, the sky had gone into that halfway point between dark and bright just enough that the snow looked like a flurry.

"Jim," Bruce voiced, and frowned. "I'm going in."

His ear piece crackled, then Gordon came through on the other side. "Good luck in there."

Bruce really hoped he didn't need it.


	18. Mr. Grinch

Bruce wasn't certain as to how Joker had gotten into the building. He wasn't sure he ever would.

Completely surrounded on all sides by police, helicopters, and news crews, it was nearly impossible to sneak inside. Joker still did it. No one was able to figure out how, least of all the GCPD, but it was no use trying to decipher Joker's ways anyway.

On his part, Batman went back through the employee entrance. He entered in the kitchen just off of the restaurant. A mess was left behind from where the cooks had been preparing for dinner. Green arrows stained the tiles.

The stage was dark in the dining hall. Plates of food, now cold, sat on the red tabletops. The instant that Bruce stepped in the middle of the room the lights flicked on to illuminate a scene.

Strapped in chairs were store bought statues of Santa Claus, a few reindeer, and two elves. Green and purple spray paint made stretched smiles on their already blushing cheeks. The Santa Clause was stuck on a constant loop of cheerful laughter. 

Batman took out a batarang and threw it right at Santa's face. The sound box split on contact so that the noise ended in an abrupt crackle. He stepped up and checked the different plastic figures for directions to the next point.

The elves exploded at once with silver and gold tinsel. Batman tensed for something else to happen, but nothing - and no one - came. He narrowed his gaze. 

Muffled music was coming from around the corner. The elves must have tripped the next part somehow.

Batman leapt down and over to the door. It lead to the elevator up to the first floor suites, but the doors had a spray painted _Out of Order_ on it with an arrow directed to the staircase. He wouldn't risk it. Not quite yet.

It would never cease to amaze Bruce how much detail Joker could get in within a short period of time. He truly was masterful with his craft - even if it was utterly deranged.

There was fake snow all the way up the staircase. Bruce tried his best to stay away from it, but the material was spread everywhere and the crunch of it was difficult to avoid. 

The music was becoming easier to decipher the further up he got. It sounded like 'Happy Holidays' from an old record player, skipping and squeaking every few minutes with a slight warp.

Batman stood at the end of the hallway. His vision showed no bodies within any of the rooms lining the hall. The GCPD had done well with the evacuation, but Bruce had a feeling that this level was empty long before their arrival.

There was a small room at the end of each hall that led to the next set of stairs. It had the ice machine in it, as well as resting chairs and a television.

As he had anticipated, there was in fact a record player sitting on the coffee table. Around the room were cardboard cutouts of Gotham's most terrible. Christmas outfits and decorations coated them. 

Penguin had a Rudolph nose stuck on the end of his pointed one. Scarface was dressed as an elf to Arnold's Santa suit. Much to Bruce's amusement, Poison Ivy had holes all over her's where dagger shaped ornaments were hung. 

Joker was definitely holding a grudge about that visit.

Batman turned off the music. It engulfed the length of hallway in suffocating quiet. Outside the window lights from the news casters came in to brighten up the room. He could see the small outline of someone narrating the scene.

Joker certainly knew how to put a show on for the city. Everyone was probably sitting close to their televisions watching the happenings of the night; just as Joker had asked of them. He played them like puppets.

It was perfect, if Bruce were being honest. They needed to prove that they weren't working together, and this way the whole of Gotham would be their witness. Maybe that was why Joker had announced it. 

More likely he just wanted a grand entrance.

It also meant that they would have to put in extra effort to make it seem real. By the set up of the place so far, Bruce didn't think it would be that difficult to pull off. Now more than ever he hated seeing Joker's unhinged side. 

The stairs up to the next few levels were much the same as the others. There weren't any suggestions as to where Batman should go. It was a never ending loop of going up, checking for people, then repeating.

Batman came to a stop two floors before the penthouse suite. He snuck around to look inside all of the open doors, rushing to get up to the penthouse, but faltered back. 

One of the doors was closed. All of the previous floors were completely opened up so that every room was able to be seen.

A flickering light was coming from the crack that Batman pushed open. He was just about to blink on his heat vision when there was a pop up of noise.

It was the television coming on to a fake fireplace. Batman snuck in while up pressed against the wall and ready for an attack, but no one else was in there. Eggnog was set up next to a plate of cookies. Underneath was a piece of colored parchment paper.

_My Christmas List,_ it read in glitter glue. Bruce inspected it further, but there was no list on it. The only thing there was a giant smiley face staring up at him with the tongue sticking out sideways.

Batman looked over his shoulder in that direction. It went to the perfect location of the bathroom. He dropped the paper to the floor as he walked over.

Based on his night vision there were no heat signatures behind the door. There was an object, however, of large size that sat right inside of the shower.

Pushing inside, Batman found that it was one of the gifts spoken of earlier. It was wrapped in a bright yellow ribbon and covered in neon band aids. If not for the situation Bruce would have laughed.

There wasn't anything hot inside of it. He reached to the ribbon and pulled it off so that it all unraveled with a single tug. The top of the box was set to the side.

A giant heart stared up at Batman when he looked inside. Christmas glitter puffed up just when he pulled back. Batman stepped away and scowled. 

Part of Bruce was glad that Joker had only put glitter in the gift, seeing as this was a front, but he couldn't help but think that it was too downplayed. Everything so far was leading up to something bigger. It was Joker, after all.

When Bruce stepped out of the door there was a pair of jaws sitting outside of the room. Unlike the wind up ones that bit at his ankles, these were plain. Batman picked it up, immediately revolted by the almost sticky texture before recognising it to be made of some sort of candy.

He looked down the hallway. There was a trail of them leading upwards. The room had only been a diversion, it seemed. At this point Joker was only playing with him.

Batman followed the dentures up to the next floor, but slowed when it came to the last few steps to the landing. He clicked on his communications. His back pressed to the wall.

"Batman?" Gordon came through. "What's happening in there?"

"Joker is on the top two floors. Don't send in any officers," he tacked on. "I'll get him under control first, but be ready to come in."

Gordon mumbled something to the side. "Fine. But if anything goes even a bit wrong, I'm coming in."

Batman nodded. "I didn't expect any less."

He heard a huff of a laugh. Then,"Be safe."

The line clicked off before Batman responded. Down below in the window across the hall he could see the helicopters rising up to get better views of the upper levels. He hid out of their sight.

In the last room of the hall stood three giant presents, all decorated in some funky design. Where the television was played a Christmas movie that Bruce recognised as _The Grinch._

Batman slid in and crouched down out of the new's sight. Lights came in on the far side to brighten the room, then disappeared with the whir of the helicopter's wings. 

Joker was no where in sight. There were traces of him everywhere, though. Batman turned on detective mode to pick up on the trail that had obviously been left for him. 

It was rushed. A strand of green hair was near one of the presents, but that wasn't left intentionally. Fingerprints coated each box, as well as the bed where Joker had sat. Makeup was on the bathroom sink. A kiss mark was on one of the box's.

Each present had something heavy inside of it. Having come from Joker, the master chemist he had proven to be over the years, made the objects more than a little concerning. Batman's panic showed only through in the pounding of his heart.

"Joker," he growled out. He turned around to survey the room. "I know you can hear me. What the hell is all this?"

Batman turned to the noise of Joker's laughter. It was cold, but vibrant in that way that made Bruce's ears ring. He stalked outside to the hallway.

"We had a promise," he continued, and grit his teeth.

Joker's laughter echoed down the halls from up the stairwell. Batman headed that way with a batarang in hand. 

"Technically," Joker cooed,"you said no murder. And there's no one here but us." 

He was gone when Batman rounded the corner. The swoosh of his coat tails was all there was to go on. Batman rushed up behind him just in time to see Joker slip inside of the locked hall just below the penthouse. 

"If you blow up the building we'll both die!" Batman bellowed knowing that the Joker was still listening.

Faint giggles came from under the door. "I never said I'm going to blow this place up. Way to jump to conclusions, babe."

Batman put explosive gel on the latch, and stepped back. Joker must have sensed the action coming because he was gone when the door swung open.

Bruce mumbled a lengthy monologue of curses as he swept over towards the closing elevator. Joker squeaked and pressed the close button on repeat, but it didn't work in time. Batman pried open the doors and slipped in just before they closed. He loomed over Joker, who only chuckled awkwardly.

"Hiya, Bats," he said with a slight upturn of a smile.

There was blood smeared across his cheeks now in place of the lipstick. If it weren't for the red soaked bandage wrapped around his palm Bruce would have been going off the rails. Still, anger took hold of him at the sight. Bruce slammed Joker up against the wall, snarling.

"What are you doing with _three bombs_ , Joker?" he demanded, and tightened his grip around Joker's throat.

Joker laughed, then choked, and held Batman's arm just below the razors. "I have it under control, darling, no need to-"

Batman punched the wall next to Joker's head, but it only made the clown squeal in delight. Joker bit his bottom lip. 

"Getting feisty," he sniggered. "I like it."

Batman opened his mouth to continue, but a thought struck him before he could. His eyes widened, and thankfully the cowl hid it.

"You hid presents everywhere," he thought aloud. "For the GCPD as well."

Joker gasped as best as he could with a hand crushing his throat. "Well done, detective. Perhaps even your greatest work."

A ding interrupted both of them. The pair looked back to the doors, which slid open to the penthouse suite. Batman didn't have time to turn before he felt a hand at his side then the slice of a batarang at his cheek.

He really should not have let Joker so close to his suit. 

Batman dropped Joker without thinking about it, and felt the man slip out from under his arm. The dark giggles turned his muscles tenser than they had been in months.

"Hurry up, Bat baby," Joker called over to him. "You'll miss the party!"

A wave of some upset feeling washed over Bruce enough that he had to take a breath. Shaking his head, he hurried after Joker, but immediately stopped when he entered the room.

It was surrounded in a wall of windows on the far side. Those old gargoyles that the city's oldest points had stood out from underneath in a way that Bruce remembered loving as a child. The fireplace crackled in the corner. It was the only light in the entire place. He blinked.

"I did some research picking this room, y'know," Joker said. He peeked up from over the kitchen counter top. "Your dad owned this hotel, didn't he? I can just imagine little you running around the place all excited, eyes bright and shining with that innocent child like joy-"

"Shut up," Batman commanded, and it was in that moment that both of them recognised that that was not Batman speaking.

For a split second, Bruce thought he caught an almost empathetic look from Jay; soft eyes and a quirked smile. Then it was gone, and Batman was grounded with the memory that the Joker does not feel empathy, and he does not have feelings, and Batman did not give in to any plays made to seem otherwise.

What the hell had they gotten themselves into?

"Sorry, babes. Didn't mean to strike a chord there," Joker pouted. "Want some cake? Makes you feel better. Ehehe."

Joker slid what looked like a store bought fruit cake that was so dry it had already crumbled onto the paper plate. They both stared at it with individual amounts of disgust.

"Yeesh," Joker muttered. "That's not appetizing."

"Tell me where the explosives are," Batman continued on with a set jaw.

Looking up and wiggling back, Joker split a grin. "I'm trying to be a good host here, Bats. No one likes talking business at a party."

Scoffing, Batman frowned. " _Business?_ This wasn't the plan."

Joker lifted himself up on top of the island and swung his legs back and forth. 

"Technically the plan was for me to lead a city wide panic without hurting anyone," he informed while spreading out to look at Batman from on his back. "Also to confuse the GCPD - and you, might I add - in a wild bat chase. If I do say so, it is working quite well.

You should really see the look on your face. Knowing your expressions behind the mask now-" He laughed and rolled over, then pretended to wipe away a tear. "Priceless, my dear. Too bad the security cameras don't work. I would love a picture."

In a sense, Joker was right. He was to inform Bruce and Alfred of the loose plan without giving away every detail. If Batman just happened to know every which way Joker was going it would be suspicious to the people; only to cause more gossip, and therefore problems. Batman was to follow these hints to wherever Joker was holed up and let the news crew do the rest of the work.

"You can't destroy this building," Batman said.

"I'm not going to destroy it!" Joker objected, and stuck his bottom lip out. "Really, darling, do you think so little of me? Stings. Right here."

He pointed to his chest right over the wilted flower on his lapel. Shrugging, he smiled and chuckled. "It may just make minor damage in some specified areas."

Batman shot up and dragged Joker over to him across the counter. " _Tell me where they are._ "

Joker's eyes fell to the cut on Bruce's cheek and huffed out his nose. "Remember how much fun we were having earlier? How about we go back to that?"

Although he felt some small pinch of guilt, Bruce set his jaw. He couldn't risk the lives of innocent people. If he and Joker died, so be it - it would certainly end their little problem - but no one else deserved the maniac's little games. Especially since this was all Bruce's idea. 

Joker spat when Batman's fist made contact with his jaw. He touched the spot, then glared at Bruce. 

"I- what the _fuck_ was that for?" 

"Stop being a stubborn ass and I wouldn't have to," Bruce snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be a baby, Bats. This isn't even that hard to figure out. By the way, I take back my statement about you being the greatest detective. You suck."

Batman took Joker by the tie and threw him over to the ground so they were eye level. 

Joker's lips pulled up in a vicious smile. "Don't joke around with me, darling. You're not very good at it."

"Get a hold of yourself," Batman spat back. "This isn't a game. We're supposed to be working together on this."

Joker barked out a laugh. It didn't hold an ounce of amusement in it. "Are we? Because you're the one who threw the punch."

"You sliced my face."

Narrowing his eyes, Joker hummed. "Touché. But you pinned me in the elevator first."

Batman's eye twitched. "We aren't children, Joker. I'm not going to argue with you like one. Tell me where Gordon can locate the bombs, and we can be done with this mess."

For an instant Joker appeared to consider this. It was clear he wasn't going to when his eyes widened and an elated grin fell upon him.

"Where would the fun be in that?" he asked.

Petty bastard.

They would do this the hard way then, Bruce concluded. In a way he loathed the idea. There was no need for this. They'd gone a whole month and a half without so much as getting into a fight - a serious one, that is.

On the other side of things, Bruce was reeling, and Joker was always a willing punching bag.

Joker sensed the change immediately. His eyes went dark, and he giggled. "Alright, Bats. First hit it free if you can make it."

He backed away some, but Batman was swift to dive in. He leapt up and swung his legs around in an aerial kick, then twirled around and upper cut Joker instead.

Joker grunted and fell back, holding his jaw. He shook his head like a wet dog, messing up his curls, then broke a bloodied grin. The light from the helicopter made him look like a shadow with only a ring glowing around his form. It was strangely unnerving. 

Batman turned his back with his cape to throw Joker off, but the clown only grabbed it and tugged Bruce towards him. A hand grabbed at one of his ears then pulled down to his knee. Batman took the opportunity to take Joker's leg and flip him down to the floor.

Joker landed with a smack. In his attempt to get back up Batman went down and put an elbow to his rib. Joker gasped out, but still managed to move out of the way from another punch. He reached inside of his pockets to pull out a throwing knife. 

Batman only just shifted off of him before it was stuck onto his armour. Although it wouldn't have done damage, it would have hurt like hell. He heaved himself off of the floor to barrel into a rising Joker. They smashed into the kitchen countertops. A stool fell over behind them.

Joker opened out a loud laugh in Bruce's face. "Oh, darling, it's been too long. Happy to see you remember I like it _rough-_ "

Upon the emphasis Batman hit him hard, then quickly added another hit to the chest just between the ribs. There was an audible crack, then blood poured from the Joker's obviously dislocated nose.

He wiped it on the back of his hand, laughing at the sight.

"Shit," he breathed, then winked. "Nice shot."

Bruce didn't have time to respond. A flash of violent purple evaded his eyesight seconds before he realised that he was being pushed over. Batman rolled and caught on to the kitchen counter top in time to hoist himself back up, then brought Joker with him.

Connecting with the edge of the counter, Joker grinned through his pain. It was a disgusting sight to see with crimson red staining each of his teeth. Bruce swallowed down the feeling stuck in his throat.

In a flash Joker had lifted himself up, then kicked his feet out towards Bruce. Boots connected with Bruce's jaw. It sent him flying back to slam his head into the oven. 

Glass flew everywhere around them. Bruce snarled and took a piece, then flung it towards Joker's direction, but the clown was already hopping over the other side of the island.

"Ah ah ah, Bats," Joker taunted. "Kids shouldn't play with glass."

He yelped and ran to the other side of the penthouse when Batman shot himself over towards him. Joker burrowed behind the couch with a dagger twirled beneath his fingers. Behind him, he heard Bruce rumble his frusteration.

"This is fun! You know, just like old times!" Joker yelled. "We should make a date of this!"

Large hands reached over and grabbed him by the shirt. The sofa tipped while Batman leapt over it just in time for the both of them to slam up against the wall. 

Joker chuckled deep in his chest and wiggled his shoulders. He swung around to Batman with his dagger. On automatic response Batman let go, then ducked down when Joker went for the throat. He grunted when Joker stepped up on his shoulders and leapt off over the sofa. 

Outside, a light shone through from the helicopters flying above them. Joker stood right in front of the windows and grinned, waving up at the news crews above.

"Quick, Bats, say hi!" Joker called out.

He grabbed Batman and pulled him into the spotlight, then removed a gun and placed it to Bruce's skull. 

"Smile," Bruce heard whispered in his ear.

_Fuck._

The news crews above waved over to where they stood to get a better shot. Batman had to look downwards not to be blinded by the lights. His eyes shifted to Joker, who didn't seem to have much of a problem looking straight at it.

He felt blood drip down from his lip to the floor. Batman went to trace the spot, but stopped halfway. There was another red spot on Joker's chest. Small and perfectly round, it was definitely not blood.

Batman's heart leapt into his throat. He turned to see the source coming from a building across the way. Police weren't stationed there.

" _Jay_ -"

Batman ducked at the same time as the glass shattered from the impact. He pushed Joker down with him, but lost his grip when he heard Joker yell out.

Screams echoed from the streets below. Batman scrambled up and opened his eyes. The windows in front of them were shattered completely around his feet. Most importantly, Joker wasn't under him.

Panic gripped him so tightly that Bruce assumed his lungs had been hit by the sniper's bullet. His vision swam as he rushed to the ledge of the penthouse. Words formed as a scream in the back of his throat, but nothing would come out except for a gutteral yell.

Batman prepared himself to leap off of the building, batclaw in hand, searching desperately for the green, purple and red spot on the city street below, but stopped on the way there.

Joker clung to one of the gargoyles off of the building. His grip was slipping, and his eyes were squinted against the chapped wind, but he appeared otherwise fine.

Bruce exhaled deeply. His shoulders slumped. "You're not dead," he said lamely.

Joker coughed a laugh, but it was mostly lost in the air. "Not quite yet."

Batman reached out and grabbed Joker's arm, then tugged. They both tumbled inside and stood, sighing. 

"I know we were a bit wound up there, but," Joker breathed, chuckling,"there was no need to push me out of the god damn window."

"There was a target on you," Batman said, and pushed Joker to where the cameras couldn't reach.

Joker wiped blood from his face onto his sleeve. "Well how 'bout that," he mumbled, scowling at the sight of the crimson. "You hit hard tonight, dear. Out did yourself."

"I wouldn't have had to if you'd just told me," Bruce grumbled again.

Joker laughed once more. "That would ruin the surprise, Bats." 

He bopped Bruce's covered nose and giggled at the tug downwards on Bruce. He stopped short when he was lifted up by the cuff then pushed up with great force against the wall.

"Just because I didn't want you to get shot does not mean I'm dropping this," Batman snapped, and dragged Joker further up the wall.

Joker hummed out in amusement. He licked his split bottom lip. "Back pocket. Figure the press got enough to be convinced."

Batman narrowed his eyes. He reached back - his ears roared in his head - and slipped the crumpled paper out of the pocket. It was a list of the places where each present was; the real Christmas list. He dropped Joker.

"Put on the cuffs," he ordered as he read over it and connected to Gordon. Joker went to the correct pocket without further instruction. He knew where they were.

"Batman-"

"There are six bombs. Three are in here in the lovers retreat, two at the Monarch Theater, and the last ones at Ace."

All places they had made marks in the others lives, in some way or another. Cheeky.

Gordon yelled out to his officers, obviously running now. "Are they timed?"

Bruce looked over to Joker, who shook his head while he clicked on the final cuff. 

"No," he confirmed.

"Thank God," Gordon sighed, though he didn't sound all that relieved. "What about Joker? Looked like a nasty fight."

Again, Bruce looked at Joker. Old bruises were mingling with new ones, but blood covered most of it up. He pressed his lips together.

"He's been taken care of."

A huff came, then Gordon said,"What the hell happened with that gargoyle situation? It looked like someone fired a sho-"

Batman clicked off the comms on his arm, and faced Joker. He glowered. Joker raised his cuffed hands and waggled his fingers.

"Take me away, officer."

Sneering, Bruce reached up and held Joker's face even through the objections. He cracked the dislocated nose back into place, then smiled when Joker yelled out and went to hold it. He chuckled.

"Unnecessary," Joker fumbled, his voice sounding a bit nasally now that the nose bleed was draining out. He cupped his hands as if that would catch it.

"Agree to disagree," Bruce repeated the familiar words. He grinned ruefully at the frown he got for it.

The trip down to the car was silent. Batman nodded at Gordon on the way down with only a small talk about what each already assumed. Joker was being dragged and dropping blood all over the place like usual. It wasn't all that different from their normal routine.

This time, though, there was a different tenseness as they climbed into the car. The weight of their short fight was lowering both of them down, inside and out, and the effects were harsh.

Bruce shoved Joker into the passenger with just enough force that watching eyes wouldn't think anything of it. He closed the door and stared at the black panelling for only a moment before sliding into it as well. The vehicle was put onto auto drive.

A screen popped up between them the moment the outside world was shut off. Joker and Bruce looked at Alfred. He huffed, not at all shocked.

"The two of you had a grand time, I see," he pointed out.

Bruce clicked off the cowl without really thinking about it. Joker's eyes bore into his profile, but flicked away on instant. They both grunted.

"Right," Alfred stammered. He sighed. "I have sent a message to the Arkham ward that you are on route with Master Jay in tow. Do be careful. Both of you."

Neither of them missed the shocked look on Joker's face at the title, though Bruce couldn't say he didn't appear the same. He swallowed.

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce said. He glanced at Joker, then down at his hands. "Talk later."

"See ya," Joker ended just as Alfred's screen disappeared.

The whir of the engine was all either of them focused on. Bruce loosely handed a group of tissues to Joker for the nose bleed. He took them without a word.

Bruce watched the scenery of the districts pass by in all of the blinding Gotham lights. He gripped the steering wheel. His gloves made that distinct leather noise in their tightening.

"Why did you do it?" he growled, but it was lost without the voice modulation behind it. For the most part it was just a cracked whisper.

Next to him, Joker chuckled. "I'm guessing you're referring to the explosives I strapped all around Gotham."

Bruce looked straight ahead; no words.

"I think you know at this point that there doesn't have to be a reason behind my methods, Bruce," Joker answered in the vaguest sense he possibly could.

Unbridled rage filtered through Bruce so quickly that for a solid second he considered taking the wheel and crashing them straight into the Gotham river banks. That way he wouldn't have to deal with the insanity that was Joker. No more worries about saving the city from the damnation it had already sunken itself into long ago. The Batman would become a legend he needn't think about. It all sounded rather appealing in the short moment he thought it. 

Then, Bruce released it all, and hung his head low. A smile cracked his expression. Behind closed eyes he could see colored dots from the force with which he squeezed them.

"We're going to kill eachother," he exhaled. If it weren't for the stillness in the car Joker would have never heard it.

Joker's skull thudded against the window. Bruce cracked open an eye to see him burrow himself in the scenery outside - expressionless. 

"Probably."

Bruce leaned back against his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. Every inch of his body ached worse than it had before everything. He couldn't wait to get home and fall asleep again; drown out all of his problems for a few measly hours.

It felt like ages to get to Arkham. When the treeline came in to sight Bruce found himself dreading the placement of the cowl for the first time in years. Joker's hand stopped him short.

He didn't say anything. That intense look was back in his eyes, but it was clouded by some other feeling as well. He slid his hand up to Bruce's jaw. His thumb flicked out to skim over the tiny cut inflicted on that cheek.

Bruce winced, but didn't pull away. Though his every instinct told him to after the incidents of tonight, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not knowing what was about to happen between them, he breathed in.

The car skid to a stop through the mud addled snow just inside the gates. Joker's hand fell away, as did his gaze, and Bruce clicked the cowl back into place. As per usual, the guards were already approaching with their weapons raised and a strapped transport cart.

"Is he injured?" asked one of them when Batman exited. They didn't seem to care that much. He couldn't blame them. And yet, his chest hurt at the tone. 

"No."

He opened the other door and dragged Joker out to his knees. The clown was beaming with red stained teeth and a grotesque laugh on the tip of his tongue.

"Evening!" he exclaimed. "Wonderful to see all your bright and shining faces again. I'm looking for a special treatment today. Perhaps the deluxe spa kit?"

Bruce watched as two of the security team took Joker roughly by the shirt and searched his every pocket. After every weapon was taken they tossed him onto the cot and strapped him in perhaps a bit too tightly.

"Oh, come on, boys! Don't look so gloomy. The little rascal bringing you down, Peirce?"

One of the guards had an expression of panic on their face at the mention of their kid that only made Joker burst with laugher.

Even through this, he managed to take a quick second to see Batman. They locked. Something in Bruce tightened enough that he had to look away. He swallowed.

Without so much as a blink, Bruce left with only the sound of Joker's dying laughter to follow him.


	19. Just the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The discord now has three people so if you'd like to add to that then please do:  
> https://discord.gg/eGYryS6

Alfred was awaiting his arrival with medical supplies in hand.

Bruce let the cave's mechanisms take the suit off for him while he walked over to Alfred. Mimicking one of Joker's moves, Bruce hopped up onto the table. His eyes remained downcast even as Alfred prodded his sliced cheek with hydrogen peroxide.

The harsh sting grounded him. The high of the fight drained out of him the more he focused on the pain.

"You're lucky, sir," he heard Alfred say. Bruce had to force himself to listen. "Any deeper and this would require stitches."

Unable to hold it back, Bruce choked out a spiteful laugh. "How considerate of Joker."

Alfred's prodding hesitated, but continued not a second later. "I assume your fight did not go well."

Bruce's fingers curled in hard enough for his nails to leave bruises. He watched without any real fascination as the color came back to his white knuckles.

"You saw the news," he answered in a low monotone. "I'd say not well is an understatement."

Alfred padded on a bandage to the cheek, then nodded for Bruce to remove his shirt. He didn't wait to do so. Nothing was there expect a few bruises, but if Alfred wished to inspect the areas anyhow, who was he to deny it? Besides, Bruce thought, it was a good distraction.

"Knowing the clown he did something overly crazy," Alfred said. It wasn't a question. "What was it this time? Murder the local street Santa?"

Bruce's eyebrows pulled together. "No. He kept that promise, oddly enough. Ow."

He lifted his arm to see the spot where Joker had kicked off the armour. A large purple and yellow mark was sitting there. He sighed.

"He hid explosives all over Gotham."

Much as Bruce expected, Alfred was not all that surprised. Instead, He raised and blinked with his nose pointed upwards. 

"Of course," Alfred stated as though this was the most obvious revelation in the world. He went off to put the med kit away. "And this is why you're brooding, Master Bruce?"

Bruce slid off of the table, frowning. "I'd prefer the word disappointed, but, yes. That would be the reason."

The sound of Alfred's shoes clicking filled the room. He went back over to the suit with newfound cleaning supplies, and eyed the blood on it with disgust.

"We _are_ both talking about the Joker, yes?"

Bruce didn't respond. The question was rhetorical anyhow. Confused, he leaned against the wall nearby. A spritz of cleaner was applied at the same time as Alfred huffed.

"The Joker is an insufferable man who is unpredictable at best, and on top of that has the worst sense of humour I have ever had the displeasure to come across.

I honestly have no clue what you see in the clown. We all no there is no real 'cure' for him. Ever since you two landed eyes on eachother..."

Alfred sighed, only sparing a side glance at Bruce, then wiped down the armour plate.

"Whatever you expected him to do tonight was not at all who the Joker is, and you really should have expected as much, sir. He's the Clown Prince of Crime, for God's sake."

The words only served to make Bruce feel even worse. His expression settled into heavy discomfort, though he tried to hide it. As always, Alfred noticed anyhow. 

"But," he continued with a much softer - albeit disgruntled - tone of voice,"though I loathe to admit it, the two of you work very well with one another. Joker works off of you in the same way as you work off of him. Whether that's as Bruce and _Jay_ , or Batman and the _Joker_." 

Bruce blinked. "So we bring out the worst in the other."

Alfred's gaze became lidded, and his cheek twitched. He heaved a sigh.

" _No_ " he scolded. "You affect each other's emotional responses strongly, and always have. I wouldn't necessarily use the same phrasing as the Joker, but... He has a point when he says that the two of you were made for the other. You're a fantastic team when you aren't trying to tear one another apart."

Bruce closed his eyes. He squeezed his sides and shook his head. Alfred arched his brow in question.

Every time the Joker and Batman were in a pursuit they worked off of the other. If Joker twirled, Batman was the one to pull him back. When Batman dipped Joker tipped with ease. Just as Joker had always described, it was their dance. Perfect partners, always in sync, completely in tune with steps only they knew. 

Bruce never thought much about how that dance could apply to them outside of the capes and the makeup. Once they'd fallen into a groove they had been tied to eachother through every move they'd made in the last month. If Bruce smiled, Joker laughed. When Joker had an idea, Bruce jotted it down. 

They had learned the other without even meaning to have done so. 

Sometimes he hated when Alfred was right.

The man himself smirked some as he saw the gears click in Bruce. He patted Bruce's chest, then walked off to let him stew on that for longer.

"I'll be upstairs when you're ready," he informed.

Bruce touched the bandage, and winced at the pressure. _They_ prodded eachother into that; antagonising the other to become angrier and more deranged and far more destructive. They built the other into The Joker and The Batman. 

He looked over to the pictures of them that Joker had gotten from newspapers and posted up on the cave walls. He noted the old wooden table with two chairs sitting side by side and the empty mugs of coffee.

Maybe Joker was right about Bruce. He felt absolutely insane with how warm the sights made him feel. 

They were both crazy.

Bruce forced himself to open the suit's pouch and grab each of the folded letters inside. He placed them all out on the main work space so he could see them all spread next to each other. He stared at the unopened one.

In all of the night's events he had forgotten about it completely. Bruce felt the corner of the envelope with his thumb, then traced over the lipstick heart over the seal. 

He had half the mind not to open it. Joker had been such a problem that he didn't quite want to give in to the image of the clown he'd gained over their time together. Joker was still a crazy bastard who doesn't care about his actions, and always has been.

Alfred was right, though. Around the Joker, Bruce couldn't say that he was much better. He became unhinged with his anger to a point of over destruction. He played into Joker's game and became something he didn't recognise in himself.

That wasn't true, and he knew it. Joker was his fear toxin for a reason, and it wasn't because of the shit he's done. 

Joker knew Bruce better than Bruce ever would, and could play into that more than anyone else could. Bruce was seen by Joker. And that terrified him more than anything ever had before.

Bruce ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. It was all written in Joker's scratch, though a few of the first lines were scribbled out like he wasn't certain on what to say. 

Same as the others, Joker started out with some sort of greeting. He stuck Batman stickers all over it with reindeer ones as well. Old writing had been scribbled out so intensely that Bruce was certain that Joker had broken at least one of the pencils in the process. It took up so much of the paper that the only visible words were _turn over_ and an arrow pointing.

Bruce rolled his eyes. He did as instructed, though, and squinted at the single message written there.

_don't be too mad._

_come see me soon_

Confusion was the first emotion that hit. Bruce flipped it over again to make sure he was seeing it correctly, but, clear as day, it was still the same sentences.

They already had a set date for that. Joker knew the plan intimately - though tonight's outburst still made Bruce blaze - so he needn't ask. 

Unless Joker didn't mean that day. Perhaps, in some twisted version of the maniac's way, he just wanted to see Bruce. It was probably some sort of joke that Bruce couldn't grasp either way. The asshole was always messing with him some way or another, even when he was being a somewhat decent person.

The confusion progressed to frusteration, then the frusteration dwindled to hurt, and Bruce suddenly realised something.

For the first time in his life, Bruce didn't like the cave's silence.

Since the end of October to today's date of November's end, the Joker had been making a fuss in the cave with Bruce right by his side. He'd spent the last week up in the manor. Joker had practically started living in the damn place. 

Bruce had gotten used to seeing his smile every day, and hearing those awful jokes, and working side by side together like it was nothing at all. He felt almost odd without the presence of the clown peeking over his shoulder.

The Joker was _gone._ They hadn't went one day in one month and two weeks without seeing eachother, and suddenly he wasn't there at all. Bruce had never been around _Alfred_ for that consistent of a time.

Swallowing, Bruce tapped a button on the table. It lit and popped up the screen on contact, but Bruce wasn't looking at it. He walked passed to grab the tape.

"Make a note," he told the system. He ripped off a piece of the tape. Sighing, he shook his head in silent disbelief of the words. "Visit Jay."

The letter was stuck to the wall right next to the big screen so he could see it every day. It was right next to a computer generated photo Joker had taken of them working over eachother. Bruce had sharpie drawn bat ears on him.

"Note downloaded," the computer announced.

Bruce closed his eyes. He needed a break from everything surrounding _this._ It wouldn't be too difficult without Joker being around to pester him. To Bruce's irritation, that only served to make him feel worse.

Bed, he decided. Sleep would drown out everything. He had a whole day before he had to be going out on another shift, and even then he didn't have to. Finally, he could just rest. 

Bruce didn't even try to go back upstairs. He went right over to Joker's old cot and dropped down onto the mattress. He toed his shoes off, pulled up his shirt, and burrowed into the blankets.

It smelled like Joker. Gun powder with the chemicals burned into his skin, all covered in the sweet scent of the gel he put into his hair. Bruce inhaled, and let himself relax into it. 

He hated how comfortable it was.

\-----

Joker was being dragged up onto the pavement. 

Blood fell from his mouth and stained the area around him. It covered his suit at that point. A weak laugh came out of him. 

"Red was never really my color," he slurred, then giggled and coughed. "I mean, it was technically what started me off. That damn hood-"

He spluttered and cracked his skull off of the ground from the hit. Something between a cackle and soft groan interrupted his monologue. He rolled over in an attempt to curl in on his aching bones, shaking ever so slightly.

"Going full out today, huh?" he mouthed, then spit crimson. It burned. 

Rough hands yanked Joker back up, and rendered him immobile with another harsh crack onto the road. Unable to see, Joker just closed his eyes and grinned.

"Breaking the rules," he muttered, but he wasn't completely sure it had actually made it out.

Cold sharpness found the underside of his chin. Joker only just dared gulp, giggling out his tenseness. He couldn't pinpoint if the appearance of the dagger made him more afraid or enthusiastic. The slight pinch of it breaking the skin made Joker's heart race.

"Do it," he dared. He bit out another laugh. "Come on, darling, you know you want to."

He grunted and gasped when his hair was tugged up towards the knife. Joker snorted. Summoning up the rest of his strength, he placed both hands up and pulled the weapon in. 

"Kill me."

The laugh barked out so loudly that it actually echoed off the walls. It cut off abruptly with a gurgling cough - knife deep in his throat.

Joker's eyes moved up. A bloodied finger left a trail on his opponent's cheek before it dropped limp. He did his best to chuckle, but it only sounded like a sick splutter against the blood pooling in his airway. 

Bright green went dull. The only spark of Joker that remained was the stretched smile coated in dark red, and now permanently placed there. So fast, yet so slow.

Wait. 

A choked sort of whine fell out into the open as large hands smoothed over Joker's chest. No signs of life were there. Only sticky, drying blood to coat his fingers.

This wasn't right. This was a mistake. It wasn't supposed to end like this, not now, not here in the dirty street without a bullet in his chest so they died side by side. That was always the plan. Joker had promised that.

All at once, laughter came about from every direction. The roaming hands stilled, hopeful, but Joker's body did not move once. Another set of fingers came over the bloodied knife's hilt.

"Oh, Brucie," another Joker whispered. His nose just barely brushed against Bruce's collarbone; the words breathing hot onto his neck. "Don't cry over me. Think of this as a Christmas present."

Joker cackled when Bruce shuddered, then ripped the knife out of the body's trachea. Red from the other Joker started pouring down into Bruce's hair, then streamed down his eyes so he could not see. Both bled in the same stream. 

"This is what you've always wanted, darling! Me, dead in your arms. Your city, safer," Joker continued. He giggled. "And you…"

That blood streaked Bruce's face and clothes. Joker eventually slumped over his back and rested there, arms wrapped tight around Bruce. 

"You're just as dead as I am."

Bruce shut his eyes tight against the scene. When he could finally make anything out, it was a blank stone wall. There was no blood, but he certainly felt sticky like there was. 

He had always hated how naps could make a person feel. In Bruce's case it was either more tired than he had left off, or nauseous and sweating. As of right then, it was the latter.

Forcing himself to breathe again, Bruce slapped a hand to his face and scrubbed while he stumbled back into the cave.

"What time is it?" Bruce called to the main area, but the words only reflected off of empty space.

That's right. Joker was gone.

Bruce held his fuzzy head. Each step up the stairs made him shakier than before. By the time that he was at the computer he was about ready to collapse into the chair.

That was the first dream he had had in a while. Partial reason was because he hadn't slept for more than thirty minutes at a time in weeks, but he didn't think that into it.

"Bring up the GCPD's recent case files," he ordered, then grimaced at the gravel texture in his throat.

Work would distract him. It always did. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard two voices mentioning a pattern of what was considered distracting.

The screens all around him lit up with police case files ranging from recent purse stealings to arson. Bruce humphed, but scrolled away from them. He stopped on the Cunningham, Willis and Falkner case, blinking, but forced himself to move on. That was on the agenda for later. 

Joker needed time to readjust back into Arkham before they could really keep moving on with their plans. If he moved too quickly they would become suspicious. 

After a few more swipes, the correct cases came up. Ironically, they were right next to each other.

The first was the drug ring. Cobblepot's involvement with it was what truly got Bruce's attention. The man was meticulous; if he was doing business with some unheard of person then it had to be interesting.

Next up was something Bruce was on the fence about. Gordon's passing mention of the robberies piqued Bruce's curiosity, however, and he wouldn't be much of a detective if he just picked and chose which ones sounded more fun. If that were the case he wouldn't live in Gotham anymore.

He pinned the two to the main screen. Gordon would have a copy of the robberies for him as well. With everything else the help from the Batman might even be appreciated.

He made a mental note to take a trip down to the GCPD soon. Bruce needed time to tend to his wounds first and foremost. That, and to get out of the sweat soaked shirt.

"Good morning, sir," Alfred smiled when Bruce fumbled his way into the kitchen. "Sleep well?"

Bruce shrugged. He leaned over the counter to look down at whatever was being made. His brows fell to shadow his face at the same time as his stomach clenched. Hours had gone by since he'd had anything to eat.

Alfred must have caught the look. He smiled and puffed out an amused laugh, then ordered Bruce sit.

"It will be done soon enough," he informed through a half smirk. 

Bruce let himself sink down. He was still trembling a bit, but he got himself under control easily. Content flooded him the moment Alfred slid the plate of food over to him, then sat up next to him.

"Thanks," he said, and relaxed.

Alfred hummed. They ate in silence other than a few remarks regarding seasoning, but it wasn't out of the normal. It was comfortable silence, if not a bit tense.

"It's odd, is it not?"

Bruce stopped and lowered his fork. He was out of it, mind swirling and eyes blurry. He rubbed his face. 

"What is?" he asked, and pulled himself to look over at Alfred.

"Not being pestered by a clown at all times," Alfred teased, but it held that serious note to it still.

Blood, read on his open palms, covering his sight, drowning him as lean arms wrapped around his torso and hot breath brushed his collarbone-

"Mm," Bruce grunted, but it came out harsher than intended.

Alfred inspected his profile. It made Bruce shiver, but he otherwise acted as thought he hasn't noticed.

Then, Alfred nodded his agreement. He took a sip of his water. They each looked at the other. Their thoughts both lead in the same direction.

"Do you think he's doing alright?" Bruce asked before Alfred had a chance to get it out.

Alfred pursed his lips. "It's only been a night, sir. I'm sure he's fine."

"A night is a long time in Arkham."

They turned back to their plates, and heaved sigh. Alfred played with his cufflinks in a way that Bruce had only ever recognised when it came to a dangerous mission. His eyes shot up with some mix of concern and question in them.

"Yes," Alfred agreed. He met Bruce's eyes. "It is."

Bruce inhaled, but his words died on the tip of his tongue. Whatever Joker was up to at this time was nothing of concern to either of them at the moment. They had to stop thinking about it. About _him._

"It'll be alright, Master Bruce," Alfred confirmed suddenly. "Joker is a very smart man. He can handle himself in there."

He didn't last time, Bruce thought, clenching his jaw. Yet Bruce thought it was a grand idea to send him straight back in without anyone to watch him.

He should have put a tracker on him. Or a bug in his cell, or some mini camera to keep an eye on him in the room. 

Joker was gone, and Bruce had no clue what was going to happen to him in that hell hole, and for the first time in his life he felt genuinely bad about leaving Joker in the hands of those people.

"Yeah," Bruce mumbled. "I'm sure you're right."

\----

Although Alfred had tried to keep him, Bruce was out on the streets the moment darkness hit.

The GCPD was in a rush all over the city in their attempts to calm down the people and dismantle the explosives. Earlier Gordon had stepped up to make a city wide announcement that the Joker was in custody, and that there was no need to panic.

Even with that, it was Gotham, and people were nervous. The words of Joker's threat during the whole of Christmas time was making people jittery. In all respects it was perfect for what they needed - a welcome distraction from the spotlight on Bruce. It still managed to make his blood boil.

Batman dropped in through Gordon's window. The office was empty other than the few dispatch officers who were working over time. They didn't appear to notice the appearance of the Bat. If they did, no one mentioned it.

While Gordon was out, Bruce took the opportunity to search around the files stashed around. Someone walked by, stopped long enough to look like they were going to protest, then continued on when they caught Batman's glare.

Some of the papers were shuffled around to reveal a sticky note pressed onto the top of a file. It was addressed to Batman. He puffed out a laugh. 

_The robbery case file is with Sweeney, if that's what you're looking for. Stick around for a while if you need to talk with me, but it'll be around 10 before I'm back. If it's something else completely, then I don't want to know. Jim._

Bruce stuck it to the computer for Gordon to know he had seen it. Always on the ball, that man. 

He went out to the work desks to find Sweeney's area. It was easy to find. The place was deserted, after all. Immediately he started opening the desk up to find his prize.

"Er- You- you can't do that," someone piped up. Gulping, they added,"sir."

"Does it look like I care?" he grit out, and looked up to face them. 

It was Sweeney, who appeared to be some desk clerk new meat for the other officers to push around. Bruce's heart sank. The poor kid didn't even look like he wanted the case.

A small part of Bruce still wanted to tell Sweeney off and just leave with it. It was the kid's problem, not his. The rest of Bruce was far too tired to do anything but let the kid off the hook.

Lifting it, Batman stalked over to Sweeney. He held it out. "I am taking this. If you have a problem with that, then you can try to stop me."

Sweeney's mouth fell open. They looked at the papers, then Batman. They actually appeared to consider fighting for it. Bruce nearly scoffed at the idea. Then, Sweeney stepped to the side. 

Bruce thanked all things great that he didn't have to fight for it for once.

He considered staying behind to talk with Gordon. However, it was only eight, and there was no point in sitting around for something Bruce didn't have an intended purpose for. Whatever the man was up to was obviously much more important.

Inside the car, Bruce took off the cowl and shook his head. The dial on the front came up with Alfred waiting. He held up the case.

"Ah. Wonderful," Alfred said. "That wasn't as difficult as expected. What will you do for the rest of the night, sir?"

Bruce shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. It's been quiet due to Joker's threats."

That was another reason why Bruce was thankful for Joker's wordplay, though he wouldn't admit it. The criminals of Gotham weren't idiots. If Joker made a threat like this then it wasn't such a great idea to get involved.

"Just a suggestion, of course," Alfred began, catching Bruce's attention. "How about you come home for the night? You and Joker decided to wait before jumping back into it, and Gotham doesn't appear to need any extra help tonight..."

"Alfred, you know I can't. If something happens and I'm not out here-"

"Then you can go right back out."

Bruce looked over at him with a serious expression on his face that near melted when he caught the crestfallen look on Alfred. 

If Joker were there then he would be right back at the manor without a question about it. If Joker were there he would probably be up with both of them putting up whatever cheesy Christmas decorations that Joker had somehow found in the closet.

Bruce glanced at the paperwork sitting in the seat next to him. He needed to go over it soon anyhow. Gotham had survived without any major disasters during the night for this long. Hopefully tonight wouldn't be any different.

"Fine," he agreed, trying his best to be frustrated about it. Alfred saw right through it, and smirked.

"See you soon, Master Bruce."

The call cut out. Bruce's eyebrows pulled together the moment it did, and he yawned. He still hadn't gotten a decent rest yet. Maybe this would finally be the night.

Across the city Joker was probably up doing hell knows what to disturb the security. The idiot slept for maybe three hours every night at any given time and was always up too early for Bruce to even comprehend. 

Bruce could finally sleep in. As someone who was used to sleeping heavily it was quite the change to adjust to Joker's chaotic schedule. In a way it was almost upsetting to know that he had to switch back to normal routines.

Bruce yawned again, and slipped down into his seat. His eyes blinked sluggishly with the promise of a comfortable sleep awaiting him. 

Maybe he didn't mind that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all didn't mind this sort of filler chapter. I have a feeling the next one will make up for any short or boring chapters recently (;
> 
> Stay tuned!! <3


	20. A Day in the Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are steadily growing! Join for amazing art and fun conversations: https://discord.gg/eGYryS6
> 
> 🚨TW🚨: non consensual drug use
> 
> For anyone who needs something to do today instead of talking with their families <3

[DAY 1 - WEEK ONE - NOT LONG AFTER ARKHAM DROP OFF]

He really wasn't surprised.

The moment he got there he had expected them to start pumping him full of mind numbing drugs. It was what happened every time. His sudden attack only made the so called treatment more necessary.

Joker, of course, didn't care all that much. They never worked. He tried to tell them that, but they never listened. Even if the drugs had any initial affect on him the end result wouldn't be what they wanted. Still, there he sat with a bandage on his arm where the needle had been and absolutely no feeling of affects.

They must have knocked him out to do it because he could not for the life of him remember getting to his room. That, or he passed out. Doubtful, but it had happened.

Joker shuffled around the few cards they had allowed him. They said it was for being a _good participant_ coming back without a fight, but Joker wasn't an idiot. They just wanted a way to distract him. It didn't work either, obviously, but the guards didn't need to know that.

It was early in the morning yet. Sun light wasn't even up. Not that Joker could tell in the damn cell, but no one was screaming yet, and he could still hear snoring from someone down the hall. Whatever time it was, he didn't care much. There was no way he was sleeping just yet. 

Bruce would fix the useless medicine highs when he bought the place. His donations had never done much, but Joker supposed that's part of why he was doing this. It brought a gentle smile to his face knowing what changes Bruce would try to bring on to Arkham. 

Maybe Joker could get a mattress from the manor. Special clown privileges.

Joker laughed, but covered his mouth when he heard a guard shuffle over to check in. He dropped it when the security left, but continued to chuckle at the idea. 

His fingers fumbled building his card house when a soft knock came on his door. Joker's face fell into a scowl when it all crumbled. About ready to yell at the guard for coming and disturbing him, he was rather surprised when he didn't hear anyone else waking.

It wasn't morning, then. The guards weren't doing their nightly rounds. By Joker's estimation it was still only about four a.m. Whoever this was was only visiting him.

The door window was slid open. Joker stood and tilted his head at the old man staring at him. They exchanged a curious look, though difficult to see in the dark, then huffed.

Harley and Ivy's inside man, no doubt about it. Joker couldn't bother to remember his name. They must have told him to visit Joker upon arrival. Annoying as they were, he at least had to give them credit for their aid.

The man dropped something. It made a soft noise against the still night air before being slipped down underneath the door. 

Joker blinked. His knees crackled when he bent to pick it up. The uncomfortable Arkham clothes scratched his skin with every movement. Not for the first time in the last hour did he find himself actually wanting one of Bruce's oversized shirts - even if they were colorless.

As expected, it was an all access security ID. Joker stood to meet the old guy's gaze, and grinned. 

"Give the girls my thanks," he rasped out. Then, thinking on it, muttered, "Scratch that. They wouldn't accept it anyway."

The old guy didn't appear amused in the slightest. He leaned in far, dark eyes lidded. "Just watch your back."

Joker felt oddly taken aback when the slide was forced shut on his face. He scoffed, and clicked his tongue.

"Rude," he mumbled, and looked down at the ID.

Harley and Ivy had definitely delivered. The card was a perfect copy of the arkham guards', picture and everything. Whatever he did to get on the side of the Siren's paid off for Joker and Bruce, that was for certain. Hopefully the janitor doesn't end up dying because of them. Joker would love to get him on their side of the game.

He paused on the idea. _Their_ side. Joker and Bruce; Bruce and Joker. His spine tingled, and he smiled just enough that his eyes crinkled in the corners. 

Hopefully the card actually worked. Some small part of him was tempted to try the card right then, but he had promised Bruce that he wouldn't try anything until he had been there for at least a full day. Joker had already pissed him off enough. He could only imagine what would happen to him if he got caught sneaking out with this.

A firm talk, probably. Maybe a solid punch or two. Joker didn't actually mind that much, but it might be months until Bruce would actually speak to him in the first place, and that-

That was something he did mind.

Joker's smile down turned. Bruce probably never opened his last note. The hot head of a man probably burned it and scattered the remains across the cave for Alfred to clean up. 

He winced at the thought. If that were the case Joker was sure to get a strict beating.

He counted how many days it would be until their scheduled meeting on his fingers, but it didn't help any. His back rounded with his over exaggerated slump and fell face first onto the disgusting moth eaten mattress.

Joker rolled over and carded his hand through his hair, tugging. Even the ceiling in his cell was falling apart. How had Arkham been allowed to stay open all these years? If anything it should have cracked open by now.

Bruce was probably working. With any hope he was actually sleeping after their battle, but Joker didn't believe that any. The guy never let himself up. Whatever it was that he was up to was definitely more fun than what Joker was.

Joker turned onto his side and tucked the ID under the bed's coils. He let his arm stay stretched out towards the ground, watching the way his fingers moved until his eyes closed against his own accord.

[DAY 1 - WEEK ONE - 9:00 AM]

His heart leapt into his throat at the sound of banging on his door. Joker rolled off the bed then slipped up to sit stretched out. Even with the chaos surrounding every cell and the echo of metal on metal in his ears Joker was able to put up a seamless grin of calm.

"Medicine," announced the guard outside his door. 

Joker cooed and giggled. "Ah, I missed this. You and I. Our little morning ritual. The sound of screaming inmates serenading us-"

"Shut the hell up, clown," spat the guard, and threw open the door.

The same as usual, Joker had already put himself into the cuffs. The guard stared, still uncertain after all this time, checked them - he got a sharp laugh and wink for that - then scowled.

"Take them."

Joker screwed up at the cup of medicine tablets. "Mm. Must I? I'm really not feeling up t-"

Joker cut off and snarled when his chin was grasped and pulled up. The pills were forced down, much to Joker's dismay. He could feel his body slow already, though his mind kept up in perfect time.

"Get up," ordered the guard, but didn't give the Joker any choice. 

They tugged Joker up and out into the line of 'patients' waiting outside. Really, the place was run like a prison. Might as well start calling it what it was rather than keep up the innocent front.

Joker played with the cuffs as the line was pushed forward. Some idiot behind him knocked up against his back, smelling like the underbelly of a skunk, then spit on the ground by Joker's foot. Looking back to make his remark, Joker was faced with a burly man clearly too high off his ass to comprehend whatever was being said to him.

"Got you on the big drugs, huh, big guy?" Joker chuckled. 

The guy didn't respond, but started making noises of distress. None of the guards did a thing about it even as he started tearing at the chains. From the looks of it he was imitating something he saw.

Joker laughed, then faced back forward, but his frown pulled far down on his face. His fingers kept working on the lock.

God, he hated Arkham.

There were a few times a day inmates were allowed out of their cell as long as they didn't have any outbursts. The first was breakfast time right after everyone was too drugged up to do much of anything other than eat. That was where they were headed.

Another was the rec room where patients could be locked up and talk, or watch television, or play the imaginary piano in the corner of the room. It wasn't really imaginary, per say. It was technically something. There was a chair cemented to the floor in front of a giant block with sharpie keys drawn on it. Some people enjoyed it, Joker supposed.

One was to group therapy. People were joined together in sections of where their _disadvantages_ \- what type of fucking crazy they belonged to - fell together. Then they talked about their feelings and what was bothering them, so on and so forth.

Joker wasn't allowed to participate in group anymore. He was banned from that years ago when he'd claimed that everyone there was gone beyond help as well as disgusting maniacs, which started a mini riot where he had ended up in the hospital wing and two others had ended up dead.

It wasn't his fault no one could handle a joke.

He, on the other hand, had the extra treatment. According to the doctors Joker was considered a "special case" so he got one to one therapy with the best of the best throughout Gotham. In all honesty it meant that everyone was desperate to figure out what was wrong with him, so he got added time under the magnifying glass. 

They were walking through the short hallway beyond Intensive Care to the cafeteria. Joker twisted to eye the green painted door to Ed's room. It was covered in equations and random sketches of Riddler, Batman and what Joker assumed was supposed to be Oswald. 

Joker was still shocked that Arkham let Ed draw everywhere. Usually giving in to the inmates desires was something they were strictly against. Maybe it was the fact that Eddie was one of the only rogues in Gotham who actually had somewhat treatable mental illness and trauma. Maybe it was the fact that Ed probably just did it without permission. Either way, it brought a wide grin to Joker's face.

The scenery changed quickly to the dark hallway, then to the transfer section. Bars separated them all from the main hall. Guards were stationed at every point around them. One bumped another and scowled upwards.

Joker strained to hear, and only just contained a burst of laughter when the guard said,"Joker's back."

"Son of a bitch," the other rasped. "Told my wife I wouldn't have any trouble on this shift."

"You work in the looney bin, sweetheart. You're always in trouble," Joker sang out, which seemed to surprise them. It turned to anger on instant. He beamed. "And tell that little beauty I say hi! Always such a dear."

Joker grunted when a baton came down on his stomach as a warning shot. He snorted, trying to hide it for dramatic effect, but only resulted in tugging at the inmate in front of him.

"Oopsie," he fumbled. He waggled his fingers at the scrawny little thing glaring up at him. "My bad. Hehe."

This was supposed to be some sort of patient helping mechanism; getting out of their cells and interacting at least once a day, even for the worst of the worst. It was city mandated as of two years ago.

Joker would never understand how the people running the dirt hole thought up these things. If anything putting a bunch of mentally unstable criminals from the worst part of Arkham into one room only allowed them to conspire.

It did turn out some fantastic gossip, though.

The smell of mulch made Joker sigh and grin despite the turn of his stomach. He sat himself into his designated spot, clapped his hands together, and laughed. 

"How I have missed Arkham's concerning glob of breakfast mush," he commented, and rested his hands at his either side on the table.

In fast succession the guards unlocked the prisoners from the other and to the tables. Joker flexed his wrists around, though it wasn't needed. He winked at the guard.

"Thanks, doll. Make sure to put in a good word with your manager for me."

The guard scoffed and walked away, but managed to hit Joker's back on the way. A month ago that would have elicited Joker to have broken out of the cuffs and put a grin on to the man's face in one way or another. However, things were different now. 

Bruce was expecting something out of Joker. The part of him that squirmed to make the Bat mad made Joker want to jump up and do the exact opposite of those orders. Breathing, he forced himself to relax and his fingers to stretch out flat.

Seeing his Batman go crazy over something he did was satisfying. Joker would never deny that. Even that one time in the cave when they half fought to get Bats get strung up was the most amusing thing Joker had ever seen. He hadn't even had to do anything big for that one.

The one that made his stomach drop and his body go warm all over, though. The moment when Bruce laughed and tried to hide his smile with a glare. It never ceased to surprise Joker to a point of breathlessness. It was like the rush of jumping across the rooftops and not quite knowing whether or not he would make it across. 

It was intoxicating, and Joker wanted that so much more than he had ever wanted that anger.

Last night only confirmed that.

"Hey."

Joker snapped up from his slight trance to the person sitting down across from him. They were locked into place and leaned forward just over their oatmeal. Both of their eyes were bright and a shaky smile was on their lips.

"You're- You're the Joker, right?"

Ah, yes. He adored this part. Crazy thugs with some sort of need to look up to Gotham's big dogs. Bright eyed and bushy tailed looking for some orders. 

Joker's eyes lidded. A twitching grin popped up on automatic, and he gasped with his hands splaying over his chest.

"I'm flattered, kid. But, no. The name's Victor Fries. Sorry to disappont."

To his amusement, the kid actually appeared embarrassed; like he didn't recognize the joke. He sat back. 

"Oh. My bad. You just, uh- look like him, y'know?"

The guy next to the kid snorted, though it lacked amusement. Joker raised up a brow, and met the other's gaze.

"Don't mind him," he said, and shoveled a spoonful of mush in. "He's new to Gotham."

The kid's eyes widened bigger than they already had been to the size of tennis balls. Dawning realization made him splutter apologies, but was cut off by a giggle. 

"Well that explains it. What's your name, loverboy?"

"Boss," someone some ways down interrupted. 

Though annoyed, Joker leaned down to see a few of his old men. He considered telling them off, but thought better of it before he did. Last time they had gotten Joker and Bruce nearly killed by setting off bombs too early. He clearly remembered firing them. 

"Is this some sorta plan, you bein' here?"

"Will you all shut up?" one of Bane's inside men barked; recognisable by the mark on his shoulder. "It's too early for this."

"Never too early for business!" Joker sniggered and wiggled at the others glaring. 

The exclamation had some of the guards shuffling closer. All eyes were on Joker, and he chuckled, covering his mouth. 

"My bad," he whisper shouted to them. "I just get so excited for breakfast."

They didn't back off, but they didn't seem to be honed in anymore either. Joker sighed and turned back to lean over the kid again. 

"So? Spit it out, kid. We only have so much cereal and oatmeal mix."

He seemed dumbstruck by all the strange interactions, but most of all the attention from Joker. He gulped.

"Vincent," he admitted. "Am I- Can I join your gang? Is that what those guys said?" he asked in a voice much too excited for Joker. 

Joker snorted, then waved it off. The older man beside Vincent humphed, but ate his food wordlessly after a short threatening side eye. Joker smiled.

"Not too fast there. I prefer to get intimate before the good stuff. Hehe."

The kid chuckled awkwardly, then nodded. "Right. So, what do I need to do? Fill out an application?"

Application to a gang? This kid really was new to Gotham. 

Joker snapped his mouth shut when the guards began unlocking some of the chains. Vincent frowned when he realised that their time was up.

"We'll continue this later on," Joker said out of some form of sympathy even though he knew he almost certainly would not. 

Turning to stand, Joker frowned.

[DAY 1 - WEEK ONE - 7:47 PM]

The floor was almost more comfortable than the bed.

Joker tugged the blanket down from the mattress and laid it underneath him so that the damp floor didn't chill him, then slid down on top of it. After some wiggling it wasn't all that bad. The smell he would have to get used to, but it was great otherwise. 

Hours of doing nothing had gone by. As per usual he had been able to entertain himself with his card games and the single Batman toy that they had provided him upon request, but he was still bored out of his mind.

Usually Joker was at least able to entertain himself for some amount of weeks. It seemed that the anticipation of his actual mission was making the whole patience part worse. 

Joker could never comprehend how Bruce was able to sit around doing nothing for hours. The man's mind moved at a million miles per second trying to solve his cases. How could his body not try and keep up with that?

He reached up to grab the Batman toy, struggling for a minute, but eventually grabbing it. He held the plush overhead.

"I can't take this for too long, y'know," he voiced. Switching voices, Joker even scrunched up his face. " _Don't do anything stupid, Joker. You'll get yourself killed._ "

Joker groaned and rolled onto his side. "I know, I know. It's just so _boring_ here. I mean, I'm laying on the floor that's infested with mold. It's hell. And it's only been one day."

He stared at the plush's face, and held his breath. For a second he hoped it would respond. It didn't, obviously. Even that was too crazy for him. Joker puffed out a breath.

The white cloth of the cowl made Joker's chest tight. If there was anything he would change about the toy, it would be those. Bruce's eyes were too pretty to cover up.

Joker scoffed. He hugged the Batman toy close to his chest, and knocked his skull off the floor. _Too pretty._ What the fuck?

A harsh knock on the door made Joker tilt his head up. He quirked an eyebrow, then rolled to make sure the ID was still hidden safely under the bed. The knock came again.

"I'll be out in just a moment!" he called and snickered. "Just getting dressed!"

"Cut the shit, Joker. You've got a guest."

Joker sat down in his chair, crossed his legs and placed his elbow on the table. "Is that so? And who would be so kind to visit little old me?"

He had to admit, his heart sank when Bruce didn't pop up in place of the guard. With or without the armour, he had been hoping. Sure, it had only been half a day and Bruce was no doubt pissed about their tangle, but Joker could wish. It's rude to keep someone waiting, after all.

In the place of the Bat was Commissioner James Gordon, mustache in all its glory. Joker forced himself to grin.

"Jimbo, my old pal! Come on in! I'll brew up a pot of tea."

Jim exchanged a glance at the guard, then the door buzzed open and in slid the detective. The window was slid shut again for privacy sake. 

Joker extended an invitation to a chair across from him, but Jim didn't take it. It made Joker's cheek twitch. Still, he made himself relax. Whatever this was about must have to do with last night. He would play it low this once, for Bruce. Only for that reason, though.

"Sorry about the mess. This was a bit short notice," he said, and laughed to himself. 

Jim's gaze swept over to the blanket and stuffy on the floor, looking quizzical, but didn't ask. He eyed Joker up and down.

In the dim lighting Joker could see every crack and angle of Jim's face. His eyes were sunken in to create heavy bags that only led to the dark marks around his mouth and deep crows feet. The red brown tint of his hair was mostly overgrown by gray streaks.

Something about the sight made Joker feel uneasy. The idea that it had been so many years that had changed the great Jim Gordon to this old man just put him on edge. Joker half wondered if he looked that much older.

"Where are the bombs, Joker?" Jim demanded. 

Joker sat, stunned, and tilted his head. "What do you mean?" he asked. 

Genuine curiosity laced his tone. Jim must not have noticed because his mouth pulled back. He leaned one palm onto the table while the other pointed into Joker's face. Green eyes crossed looking down at it.

"This isn't time for one of your damn jokes here. Tell me where they are, or I'll have the guards up your treatment."

Joker's eyes narrowed to something dark. "Bats gave you the list, did he not? If you can't really can't find them with a cheat sheet then you're more useless than I originally thought."

"Don't insult me," Jim snapped. "This doesn't have to get dirty."

The threat of some higher form of therapy Joker very much wished not to take part in - he may have a high tolerance level, but he was still technically human - loomed over his head with each word. Joker rumbled.

"There aren't any more," he made himself grit out. 

"And why should I believe you?" 

Joker's chuckle was snappy and made Jim's hair stand on end. The clown moved to sit forward in his seat. Years of dealing with him was the only thing that stopped Jim from reaching for a weapon.

"If there were more the building would be up in flames by now," Joker admitted, and allowed himself a grin.

This seemed to stop Jim's track of thought. Joker never really had extended one of his plans out. That much was true. He liked to be there and watch the disaster as it happened; get involved with the chaos and the Batman's winged chase. He was the center of attention. Unlike some of the other criminals in Gotham, Joked didn't have a purpose to his sick games. All he ever wanted was a good show for Batman.

Jim appeared to be thinking that over. With each growing second his eyebrows pulled further together. Joker could practically see the mustache bristle.

"That was the whole list," Jim thought out loud.

Joker huffed. "Ladies and gentleman, he's done it."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Joker's lips when he saw the gears click into place.

"Surprise," he whispered.

Jim shook his head. He took off his glasses to pinch his forehead in a way that reminded Joker far too much of Bruce, then asked, "Why?"

The tabletop was like a drum beat under Joker's fingertips while he giggled. "That's not your secret to find out, Jimmy. Try again later."

Jim placed his balance from foot to foot. He sighed. "Bastard was right about you. You don't make a lick of sense."

"Oh, don't say that! You'll hurt my feelings," Joker exclaimed while pulling his bottom lip down. Then, he split a beam that echoed with ever growing laughter deep in his chest. 

"It all makes sense if you get crazy enough."

\----

[DAY 2 - WEEK ONE - 1:24 PM]

Joker picked at the spaces between his teeth.

He knew there was nothing there. Even if there was he wouldn't have taken the time to check. However, it was the first day with his new therapist, and first impressions were everything.

He had been sitting there for a few minutes already. Some guard had picked him up some time ago to come and stay chained up in the uncomfortable metal chair they insisted on having, then promptly left after that.

It was odd behaviour. He was used to them badgering him about sitting still and being quiet from the corner until the doctor arrived. Something was off today.

Joker knew someone was watching him from behind the glass, though. He could sense them watching. It was something he had trained himself to recognise a long time ago.

"Does anyone have a toothpick?" he called out and lolled his head over to the glass. 

His reflection looked disgusting with all the bruises and cuts. _Yeesh._ No wonder Bats hadn't wanted to stay dropping him off.

"I can't get this damn food out. Just toss me one if you have the chance. Floss would work too."

On that note the door clicked open. Joker turned over and grinned over his thumb. His shoulders wiggled. 

She was tall, and wore her hair up in elegant braids behind her. She blinked at him and sat down without a word, opening a file that she previously had tucked underneath her arm. 

She looked over the top at him, smiled, then closed it. She settled into place with her shoulders set and her hands folded on the table.

"I'm Doctor Avery. I understand you've had some problems with violent tendencies, psychotic breaks, and the sort?"

Ah. He tried keeping his grin in. She was trying to play him. She had read all of his files, just the same as the others. There was no way that she wasn't aware of his general reactions. 

Well, it takes two to tango.

Joker bit his cheek and looked down. He coughed out a small noise, and shrugged. "Yeah. I guess."

Avery looked him over. "We're going to start off slowly. I'll begin. I'm doing well today. How would you say you're feeling?"

Bright eyes shot up at her, and Joker's smile twitched down. He shrugged again, then mumbled,"Okay. A little shaky."

"Would that have anything to do with the recently acquired injuries?"

Joker made sure to over emphasise his motions to look down at the bruises covering most of his arms. The rashes from Ivy's plants were calming down some, but they still looked like he had gotten an ugly case of road rash. Flower loving bitch.

"Maybe. I don't know," he admitted softly, and touched the place where it appeared sensitive. He added a wince for extra brownie points.

"How did you get all of these?" she asked. "I saw your fight last night. It must have been worse inside."

"Love bites," Joker spoke, and his eyebrows pulled together. "That's what I think they are, at least."

Doctor Avery tilted her head. She crossed her legs, and hummed. Dark eyes narrowed. Joker sniffed.

"I see. Would you like me to have the nurses bring you some extra antipsychotic medicine?"

For as long as he could Joker tried to keep himself under control. "No," he squeaked out, but his eyes started watering. "They don't work."

"I think they do," Avery said,"and you just won't admit it."

Unable to keep it in, Joker doubled over and slapped the table. He covered his mouth and waved around the other hand, but the full body trembling from effort was a dead giveaway of how hard he was struggling to breathe.

When he looked back up Avery was only staring with her eyebrows poised in a serious position. It only made him laugh harder. Joker held his sides and placed his forehead onto the table.

"Now that you've gotten that out of your system," Avery began. Her voice had taken a different note to it.

Joker looked up and breathed out the last few chuckles. He sniffed and readjusted himself. "Don't look so glum, Doc. I was just messing with you."

"I am aware," she said.

Covering his mouth in a silent gape, Joker whispered,"Oh, you're good. How was my performance? Not nearly as good as your's, but you gotta give me a little applause."

"I will not be indulging in your episodes, Mister..." She peeked up at him from the file again.

"Joker," he said, and pointed to it. "Shouldn't it say that in there?"

"It does," she confirmed. Her lips thinned. "But I do not believe that to be your real name."

Joker pulled a scoff. The audacity. "You think my own mother didn't know what she was going? The audacity."

Avery huffed. "The Joker is as much your name as Doctor is mine."

"Well, hot damn," Joker snorted. "My sincerest apologies. You have some cruel parents."

Avery checked something off on the short notepad she had, then looked up again. Her expression drawled with disdain already. Joker felt pride swell at his impressive feat. It tended to take a few days before they loathed him.

"Right then," she sighed, having finished writing down notes. "Is there anything you would like to know before we begin?"

Joker eyed the note pad, but decided to save it for another time.

"Nah," he smiled. "Hit me with your best shot, baby. I can take it, I promise."

"Good," Avery smiled back. "Let us get started then."

\----

[DAY 3 - WEEK ONE - 3:47 PM]

Joker stretched out in the armchair.

His body ached from sleeping on the dirty floor and creaky bed. The most comfortable piece of furniture they had was this one, and even it sagged down in the cushions.

He swung his leg over the arm and rested his cheek on his palm. The other hand clicked mindlessly through the channels on the television barred to the wall. 

"I was watching that," someone grunted behind him.

Joker looked up at the looming figure. He recognised them as the same man who had the mental break behind him that first day. 

"I haven't even played anything yet," Joker drawled, too tired to come up with anything witty.

The inmate had a striking resemblance to Zsasz, if not for the hair and lack of tally marks. Actually, they didn't look like Zsasz at all. 

Joker always thought it was interesting how a groggy mind could make such off base connections.

"I was _watching_ that," they repeated, and pointed at the screen.

Joker coughed out a laugh that sounded much more like an agitated growl than anything, but stopped when he saw the orderlies glaring from the door. He was already tired enough. A pile of sedatives would not help him feel any better.

Clicking back for the big guy, Joker frowned when some random news channel was turned on. He watched as the menace sat down in front of his arm chair to watch, engrossed in the scene happening.

"Hey. Joker."

Joker turned, then rolled his eyes and looked away. "Look, kid, you gotta leave me alone here."

Vincent frowned, and shifted from foot to foot. The one who followed him around stared down at Joker vehemently. He returned it, but with a smile.

"Sorry, sir. I just saw you and thought now would be an okay time to discuss what you said the other day-"

"It's not," Joker chuckled. 

He popped his lips. Vincent looked far too down for Joker's mood to deal with. Sighing, Joker upped Vincent's chin.

"Don't look so down, sport. Once I've settled in with Doc Avery we can talk. Probably."

The other guy grunted, and shook his head. He placed a hand on Vincent's shoulder to tug him away.

"He's lying, Vin. There's no Doc Avery."

Joker arched a brow. She was new, but she wasn't that new. He made a mental catalogue to look into that.

"And who are you?" he asked instead, and spread a vicious grin. "Unless you're his pet, then I-"

"I was watching that." 

All three stopped to look over at the lug sitting and watching the same news channel as before. 

"It's the same thing, big guy," Joker informed, and nodded to the screen. "You're still watching it."

Joker looked to the report of some string of robberies. He remembered reading about those in the paper last week. Big guns, those guys were. Played it on the dangerous side.

The inmate shook their head, then pointed directly at the footage as it replayed. Joker rubbed his eyes, and shrugged. 

"I don't know what to tell you, m..."

When he turned back to Vincent and the other guy to find them gone Joker could only find it in himself to slump further down into the chair. 

To hell with Arkham.

\----

[DAY 4 - WEEK ONE - 2:26 AM]

Joker grimaced as the springs creaked.

The rust against the darkness made it difficult to see much, but Joker found the ID card fairly easily anyhow. It slipped out after a tug or two. He picked it up from where it slid to the floor.

Joker was getting antsy. The day had been a total repeat of the last two, but this time Doc Avery was straight to the point. She only ever got false answers, of course, but she didn't need to know that.

Breakfast, Doctor, rec room, cell, and restart. Joker couldn't stand it. All of it was useless anyway. He needed to do something to pass the time. Maybe breaking out to wander the asylum at night wasn't the best option, but he liked it the most.

Shift change was in a four minutes. Joker had memorised it long ago in order to make easy escapes from his cell and to the main hall. Making a grand exit was no fun when they caught you sneaking out in the first place.

It took about two minutes for everyone to be situated back in their spots. Usually Joker would have to rush to pop the lock off to make it in time, but he wasn't all that worried tonight. If the card worked like it was supposed to then there was nothing to be concerned of. If it didn't, though... 

In short, he wasn't looking forward to that.

Joker slipped over to the door and eyed where the scanner was on the other side. Once he heard the telling click of security change he slipped the card through the windows cracks. After a bit of struggling to bend his arm to the right position, a tiny beep and unlocking noise sounded up.

It slid open and shut again with ease. Joker scurried off to a dark corner near the exit, but had to slip further down when the new guards turned in that direction. Without thinking about it he went into the direction of Ed's room.

Alright, he would admit. He had gotten somewhat overzealous with this plan. He wasn't supposed to start actually investigating for another two days. Looking around that could get him caught, that was. He could hear Bruce drilling _a whole business week_ into his skull. 

Joker had actually made a song forming all of Bruce's favorite reminders. It wasn't catchy, but it fit them all in.

Whenever Joker broke out before he had some sort of plan of escape. Kill the first two guards to make it to the security cams, cut it out, and run. Climb out through one of the back tunnels. Blow up half of the east side.

This time wasn't an escape, though, and one line of the song was _do not kill anyone._

Having wanted to test out the card, Joker decided to go through with it. Being stuck in Eddie's cell was starting to make that seem a terrible idea.

It was smaller than Joker's cell. The walls were covered in layers of designs that made no sense to anyone but the compulsive, having been made and scribbled over multiple times.

"Mental note," Joker whispered to himself. "Tell Ed to get himself together."

Joker bent to look under the cot. If he knew anything about the Riddler it was that he was good with escape plans. There might have been a hole, or back wall in the place.

Tucked up inside of the bed and inside of the pillow were clothes, and a hat; all Arkham security issued. That, and a small trophy. Whatever that was for.

Someone must work for Ed on the inside if there was a planted escape before he even got here. Joker was beginning to think he should get someone like that too. Apparently it came in handy.

Joker chuckled, and shrugged on the guard outfit. Ed might have been a mentally unstable weirdo who really needed to spruce up his room, but he was on top of everything. Joker would have to write a thank you at some point.

Better not to, he rethought. That would only put gasoline on the fire that was Ed's raging ego problems. For once he agreed with the Arkham Staff regarding patient treatment. The man did not need to be encouraged. He was insufferable enough as is.

Joker carefully slipped on the hat. Then, carefully, he peeked out of the door and slipped out. No one appeared to have noticed. A grin came up behind the face mask. 

The halls were mostly empty other than the few people doing their rounds. He nodded to someone in greeting, but neither spoke a word. 

The logs for each guard were up in the blocked off security rooms. Joker hadn't been in one of those for years. He hadn't had a purpose to. But, having it be part of the mission, he didn't see why he couldn't take a quick look. Bruce wouldn't mind. It was only a sneak before he actually started searching around.

Joker pressed the card to the entrance. When it didn't click right away his heart leapt into his throat, but the beams fell down a second later. His chest released its tension.

Only one person was inside, but, shocker, they were asleep. Joker humphed, and walked passed them. He started digging through the piles on the desks. For the most part it was just reminders, receipts, and notes from other guards.

"Ugh. Really, Donny?" Joker sneered, looked at the guard, and flicked away some old fast food papers. "I expect better of you."

The sleeping form snorted and rolled over to drool on the other side. Joker's nose scrunched up in distaste, but it vanished when he spotted the paperwork. It had been hidden underneath Donny. Why hadn't he thought of that? 

Grinning and hopping from foot to foot, Joker slid the papers out and up to his face. Just as expected, it was a list of all the employees working shifts for the next month.

Joker covered a giggle with his glove, but still looked down at Donny in wait for the man to stir. It didn't happen, thankfully. Joker huffed and tucked them all into his jacket.

"Check for Team Bat," he whispered to himself. 

He turned to sneak out again, but stopped before he took a step towards the door. A list was posted up on the wall with a list of names scribbled onto it. From the looks of it it appeared to be some sort of schedule.

Curious. He had never seen that before. 

Joker flipped through and scanned across the names one by one. New patient entries, times for medication, and, most specifically, which doctor belonged to which patient. What stood out the most was that Doctor Avery's name was only listed once on the whole sheet.

Her information was listed under her name with a serial number underneath it. Joker looked around for anything that could connect to that, and found one of the filing cabinets with the same address. Bingo.

After a short scuffle getting Donny's keys, Joker was able to rifle through the resumes freely. He swayed his hips to a silent tune while he went through them.

"Avery, Avery..." Joker clicked, and narrowed his gaze. "What are you up to?"

His fingers stopped on the label that went with her name. Joker smiled. The yellow folder was removed and spread out on the table. 

A picture of her on the top left corner made Joker wince. People who said that their high school pictures were bad had never seen this. He tracked down to her patient information instead of focusing on that.

Joker's forehead crinkled, and a small chuckle fell off of his lips. It lacked any humour. If anything it was to release his tensions.

The only listing was his hour. Avery was fully equipped to have sessions with most of the crazies locked up down here, but she only had time for him. Unless she got the same chiropractic appointment every day then that didn't make much sense.

It did click as to why no one else seemed to know who she was.

Motion on the security cameras was what made Joker scramble to put it back. New people were coming in again, which meant his window was running short. It wouldn't be long before there was no getting back into his cell.

The resume was placed back in the cabinet and locked up again. Joker left the keys next to Donny and sighed wistfully.

"Till we meet again, my unconscious slob of a companion."

He went back to his room without much of a trace. The only hitch was when he tried to enter but someone came by, so he covered with opening the window slot.

The suit was removed the instant he stepped in. Taking a page out of Eddie's book, Joker hid everything and plopped down on the cot.

Avery was definitely up to something. Whether it had to do with their problem or not, she had some sort of intent behind her time with Joker. He frowned.

Fun times.


	21. Explosive Test Course

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!
> 
> It has officially been one year since snig has begun! Crazy, right? I can't believe it myself. This started as a short few chapters of some half idea, and has grown to a 100k+ novel nearing 500 kudos and many, many lovely people who I adore with my whole heart (I mean you if you didn't get that ✋️)
> 
> None of this could have happened without all of you and you're support. This experience has honestly given me a load of fantastic friends, and I haven't even met most of you!!
> 
> Speaking of, if you want to interact and meet some of the lovely people who read this, and me, make sure to join the Discord! We love getting new faces and fellow Batman enthusiasts (especially if you like images of Jay in a pretty suit)
> 
> Here's the join link: https://discord.gg/eGYryS6
> 
> Ily all, and thank you once again. Happy One Year, everyone! 
> 
> Grey <3

Bruce had been reading over the previous ones when it happened. 

More sleepless nights, no matter how hard he fought against it, made it easy to double down on the work. 

A full week had gone by. Bruce's wishes to get some rest were completely pressed by his racing thoughts. He had gotten less sleep in this time than he had when Joker was around.

It showed too. He had only seen himself once, but it wasn't a pretty sight. Without a shower and shave he looked more like he belonged in the East End gangs than anything.

He scrubbed at his eyes, which were glazed over. He had read the same sentence over five times now, but it still hadn't made sense. He pushed the hilts of his palms into his eyes. 

All of the robberies happened during the day. No one ever spotted them until it was too late, and the only person who ever reported it was the manager. They were stealthy. Only one object or amount of cash was ever stolen, and it was always in even numbers; consistently perfect and precise.

The GCPD's leading guess was that the customers in the store were who conducted the operations. It would make sense as an inside job. People slip in, keep an eye out for anyone watching, then have one of them slide into the back and steal their items.

Bruce didn't buy it. This was group work. Anyone involved was meticulous in how they functioned, and none of the security cameras showed any of the same people showing up to the scenes. It was a possibility that there were customers who were involved without being a part of the robbery, but Bruce doubted it. 

He was going over the security cameras when everything shut down in blaring red. The footage halted in place of a map surrounding Bruce. 

The alarm pierced his ears. Bruce scowled and covered them, then bellowed at the computer to shut it off. If it weren't for the scratch of his vocal chords he would have questioned whether he said anything at all.

Once the noise shut down, the map was replaced by screens all around him. News footage played at four different areas with reporters showing officers escorting customers out of the different locations.

Bruce dropped his arms to his sides, and heaved a sigh. He coughed and stalked forward to watch. His throat was sore. He massaged it while squinting at the footage.

"Turn it up," he ordered, then swallowed against the dryness. 

He remembered the glass of water Alfred had left for him. Enticing as it sounded, it was probably musty by that point. He hadn't touched it all night or day. It could wait.

"-eives have hit four different locations at once," the caster announced, and therefore drew Bruce back to the task. "Police report that over two million dollars worth of money has been stolen, tripling any previous crimes that this group h..."

Bruce's forehead crinkled. All of them happening at the same time seemed a bit sketchy. Where they hit were big jewellery stores which were all bustling with people at this time of year. Rush hour was at about one in the afternoon, and that had just passed. At least one person would have seen someone.

He ran his fingers through the half beard he had managed to grow out, tugged at it, then exhaled heavily. 

They must have some sort of reasoning as to why they hit those places. There were no banks across the city who had reported anyone exchanging any large amounts of cash recently, so they weren't intending to spend unless it was in the underground markets, but Bruce had trackers there too. Again, there was nothing. Which could only mean they had some sort of motive. 

He only had to figure out what.

"Sir?"

Bruce turned on his heel to face Alfred, who had managed to sneak up on him. He blinked. "Yes?"

Alfred's expression contorted into something akin to concern, but only asked,"What's going on? I heard a ruckus of sorts."

Relaxing, Bruce shook his head. "Nothing to worry about. Just some new evidence regarding the robberies."

"Ah," Alfred frowned, and stalked up next to Bruce. "I'm assuming this means you'll be investigating?"

Bruce grunted his affirmation, then scratched at his head. He needed to check where Gordon was before heading out. The man was probably awaiting Batman's arrival already.

"And I suppose there's no way to convince you otherwise."

Striking him, Bruce looked over to Alfred with his eyes narrowed. "Why would there be?"

Alfred shrugged. Not for the first time Bruce couldn't help but notice just how old the other man appeared. Those eyes Bruce come to see as so strong and fierce only looked back at him in what he could only assume was sorrow. 

"You need rest, Master Bruce," Alfred told him, but both knew it was reflecting off of Bruce without landing. "Time to recover. This whole Joker situation has left you-"

"I'm fine, Alfred," Bruce snapped, the name hurting his very core. He came back immediately with a frown. Softer, he said, "Really, I'm fine. I promise."

Alfred didn't seem to agree based off of the arched brow and disappointed frown - Bruce had to agree on the fact that he most definitely was not fine, though that was for another time - but didn't try arguing. He must not have been in the mood.

"Of course. Is there anything you need before I take my leave? Lunch, perhaps?"

The thought of eating set Bruce almost nauseous. He shook his head again, and cleared his throat. 

"No, it's okay. Go ahead and relax."

Alfred locked his hands behind himself, half bowed away in a way he only ever did when Bruce was young, then stalked away without a word.

Fantastic. He was angry with Bruce. That was lovely. 

Bruce threw a pen across the room the moment Alfred was out of the way. It clattered across the floor in an incredibly anticlimactic way that only made Bruce feel worse. He slammed his forehead down on the desk and grumbled. 

He would have to go to one of the locations and investigate. Swiping lazily at his tracker pad, Bruce found Gordon's signal. He forced himself to go and prepare the suit.

Maybe he was dreading the whole Joker breaks in to Arkham plan a little more than he would be willing to admit. Not knowing what was going on was absolutely eating at Bruce. Joker could have solved the whole case already and Bruce wouldn't know for another month.

It might have partially been due to the fact that Bruce had no clue whether Joker would even survive this time around. For all he knew the same people had shot Joker to die in one of the tunnels where Bruce would never find him.

Most of it was the case, though. 

Bruce didn't let himself think on the way to the Heights. He only soared over Gotham and felt snowflakes melt on his face while he watched over the glowing lights.

The police cars were a dead giveaway as to where he needed to go. Bruce dove down then landed gently on top of the building. Two more leaps and he was right on the store's front doorstep.

Barricades of customers and onlookers surrounded the location. He couldn't find Gordon among the crowd. Too many people were there to see anyone. Next to him, and officer cleared their throat.

Batman looked to him. Even without his eyes visible it was clear that he was not in the mood for anything they had to say. The officer closed their mouth having rethought their decision to open it.

"Where's Gordon?" Batman snarled.

"Sonova bitch," answered his question. "What took you so long?" 

Gordon pushed through the barricade towards Batman, faltering when he saw the other officer. He frowned. 

"Get out of here, Litz."

Reporters turned to the source of the shout from behind. Batman sneered and turned his back at the onslaught of questions about Joker. Gordon seemed to agree with this decision, for he slung an arm over Batman's shoulders to lead him away. 

"Vultures, the lot of 'em," he mumbled in disdain. "Let's get inside. It's freezing."

Batman hummed his agreement. The two of them entered. Unfortunately for them both, the inside wasn't any warmer. They shivered in unison.

"Who the hell keeps it this cold in their store?"

Batman glanced over at Gordon, hiding his amusement, but made his agreement known with a hum. Gordon huffed. His breath came out in an icy spout.

"Been busy?" Gordon asked Batman while they trudged over to the front desk.

Again, Batman turned to Gordon with a conveying question to his posture. Gordon chuckled, then patted his own cheeks. Instant embarrassment flooded Bruce. He was actually glad that the beard was there, if only to cover the flush.

"Very funny," he bellowed.

Gordon shrugged, smirking, then spun a circle to look for the manager. Other than the forensics looking for evidence there was no one in sight. For whatever reason, Gordon actually appeared happy about this.

Bruce quirked a brow. Usually that would make Gordon furious and start asking around. Always in detective mode, he was. 

Gordon nodded his head to the back of the store. Bruce humphed, but followed Gordon back nonetheless. They went into the employees area where the chatter from outside faded into a faint mumble.

The door clicked with Gordon locking it. It was a small space with a lounge near the back and a lunch table in the middle. Only a single coffee pot sat inside. Behind everything was a door connecting to what Bruce assumed was the boiler room. They both made a note to check it out.

Gordon found the thermostat and went over, grimacing at the low temperature, then placed his hands in his pockets. Bruce sighed.

"Jim-"

"I went to talk with him."

Bruce tensed on the spot. Not good. This was not what he had been expecting to happen. Anxiety flooded every one of his thoughts - a puddle forming around a pale form, wide smile staring up at him, cold hands limp - and Bruce shuddered.

A protective layer came over him with a shaking breath, and Bruce forced himself to straighten out. _Calm down._

"When?" he forced.

"Few days ago," Gordon answered. He mustn't have caught Bruce's momentary state of panic, for he proceeded saying,"'Figured I would wait to tell you about it before my crew."

Bruce sauntered to the other side of the table in the middle of the room with a finger tracing the wood. He waited for Gordon to continue on his own. Whatever this was was obviously important if it had to wait for Batman's ears. 

"I thought that there were more explosives. Figured I'd get him to tell me where he'd hidden them."

Inside, Bruce nearly snapped at the thought of Joker having lied about the bombs. The worst part is that he wouldn't put it passed Joker to have done something like that. That didn't mean it didn't make Bruce sting.

"None of the other ones worked," Gordon continued, sensing Batman's next question. 

Batman caught Gordon's eye, frowning. He could feel every bone in his body creak with the effort it took to hold still. 

Inhaling then puffing out the icy air, Bruce asked,"What do you mean they didn't _work_?"

"They weren't real," Gordon answered as simply as that while stalking towards Batman's position by the sofa. "Forensics and the bomb squad checked them over multiple times. Nothing was even made to go off."

Batman's pulse pounded in ears ears, and his eyes blinked heavily. This felt wrong. More than wrong - it felt like Gordon didn't trust him, and that was something Bruce had never wished. Trust from James Gordon was a big deal, and losing it was even bigger.

The biggest problem was that Joker hadn't made real bombs. He easily could have. He was fast on his feet and could whip up a batch of the worst chemical explosives Gotham has seen in a while in twenty minutes flat.

He didn't.

_"I never said I was going to blow this place up. Way to jump to conclusions, babe."_

"He said there weren't more."

Batman scoffed, and scrubbed at his cheeks. "Of course he did. It's the Joker."

When Gordon didn't respond right away Bruce had to sit down on the couch's back. He knew how it probably looked. Batman never gave in to his emotions, or backed down from something as little as a confrontation. Sitting down wasn't much, but it was enough to confirm Gordon's beliefs.

"You believed him?" Batman asked despite already knowing the answer.

Gordon took a seat next to him. "Not at first. Like you said, we are talking about Joker, after all."

Bruce couldn't help but think of how ironic it was that he had heard that phrasing twice that week, and both times it had been used in a negative connotation. He decided he rather wanted to smash something.

"I started looking into everything starting from Joker's escape," Gordon mumbled. "After the night you picked him up you both fell off the map. Tracked right up until the threat the other day."

Batman scowled, cheek twitching. "Jim."

"You faked it all, didn't you? All of the explosives, and the fight, and the holiday threats? You're working with that damn clown."

Hesitating, Bruce narrowed his eyes. For once he wished Gordon wasn't good at his job. Lucius and Alfred were enough. They weren't even supposed to get involved. Everyone he cared about was putting themselves into the danger that was his adventures. 

It crushed him to think about it. The three of them were too old to be doing any of this; putting themselves into the line of fire for Bruce's wellbeing. They shouldn't care in the first place. Some small part of him thought that he wasn't worth their trouble - least of all their lives.

"I didn't know about the explosives," Bruce whispered. It was an idiotic response, but it was the best he could muster. 

Gordon hummed, but didn't sound any more relaxed about it all. He shook his head. "Why? Of all the terrible people you could work with in this city-"

"It's complicated," Batman spat. They stared at eachother. "Neither of us chose to work together."

Once again, regurgitated words. To Alfred and Lucius, then Harley and Ivy. The only problem with it was that Bruce wasn't sure if it was true anymore.

Joker had absolutely no reason to stay. Bruce had seen the man broken beyond what a normal person could repair, teetering on the verge of death. Three weeks later he'd be back and right as rain where others would be suffering for months. The small injuries he had gotten that night were nothing in comparison to others that he had gotten before.

Yet he stayed with Bruce. 

"Bat," Gordon sighed, and glanced at Batman. "If I hadn't figured that then we wouldn't be talking so calmly. Whatever the hell mess you got yourself wrapped into with that clown, I don't want to know."

Gordon's lips pressed together, then wetted down until he sighed. He shook his head as though he couldn't quite believe the words coming out after.

"That's why I'm not going to tell the public about the explosives."

Bruce blinked. The ripple of the shock made him just about want to scream. Instead, in formal Batman node, he asked, "What about the panic?"

"You forget where we live," Gordon teased, and finally glanced at Batman. "There's a panic every Sunday afternoon."

Looking down at his hands as he curled them, Bruce stood again. "Why are you telling me this, Jim?"

Gordon followed his lead by standing, then circling around the sofa to look over the room. Both looked at the back area, eachother, then silently agreed it was time.

"If it were me," Gordon grunted as he pulled away from the ice cold sting of metal handles,"I'd want to know if someone had my back. That, and the clown is insane. Guessed you had no damn clue whether the bombs were real or not."

Bruce couldn't decide if he was more relieved or terrified at having Gordon on his team with the case. These people were all so loyal to him. He couldn't think of a single reason why.

Still, he huffed his acknowledgment as the two of them tugged open the door. The hinges squeaked, then swung open. They stepped back as the flood of air rushed at them.

All was forgotten the moment they looked inside. It was even chillier in there, having been locked and shrouding off all heat. Someone must have locked the door from the outside without thinking about it.

Lying in the middle of the room without anything but undergarments was the manager. His eyes stared up in frozen terror and shock. Not a single part of him moved.

Gordon checked his pulse, but pushed himself up with a grimace right after. "Shit."

Batman knelt down next to the body and turned the head to the side. Thankfully there were no marks or splotches like the other bodies. Detective vision made it clear that the body wasn't frozen either. Relief made him sigh, but Gordon didn't appear to feel the same. 

"And here I was thinking the press was eating this up before."

"Go get the others," Batman told him, making Gordon look at him sharply. "I'll look into it while you're gone."

After some hesitation, Gordon agreed to that. He patted Batman's shoulder on the way out, stopped as though he wanted to say something, but neither of them did. That conversation was over. There was no need to poke the bear. 

Bruce pulled up a scanner and went around the room. Someone had left the manager in there. If he could pinpoint any identifiers about what happened then it was a solid lead to finding the thieves. Now murderers, Bruce supposed. 

Nothing of evidence was left out on the floor other than the clothes sprawled over. Dread washed over Bruce at the sight, but it drained away when he noticed the lack of anything on the body. The reason those were off was a mystery to be solved later.

The door handle on the inside was clear of anything, but the outer had glove marks on it. Not as good as fingerprints, but it was something.

Looking outside, there seemed to have been some sort of scuffle. It hadn't been physical. Perhaps it was more of a confrontation. Coffee mugs with only one drunk from, - the manager, by all appearances - a bit of a spill on the counter, chairs pulled out for two people; by all appearances it had been a simple conversation. 

Then there was the thermostat and the phone. One of the chairs was pushed back in that way that meant someone had gotten up in a rush. The other remained relaxed. If the murderer had been revealed and the manager had gone for help then both chairs would have been messed up, or even a bit more damage to the surrounding area. Someone went for the thermostat first, then.

Real fingerprints were on it, implying that the manager was who messed with it. Whatever his reasoning was was nothing Bruce could comprehend without more evidence. It probably had something to do with the clothes.

The phone, however, had those same gloved ones as the handle. They had called someone after locking the manager in - probably for backup on what to do. They hadn't had a problem this big before. It would certainly draw attention to them.

If Bruce could get ahold of the phone lines then he could possibly track where the murderer had called. Judging by the track record of the group it would likely be to some burner or pay phone, but if he could pin point which one then he could start asking around.

Bruce turned to go and investigate the body, but heard Gordon outside before he could manage it. The man was barking loud enough that Batman would have time to escape before they entered.

A gentle smile made Bruce's whiskers tickle his nose. His fears about losing Jim's trust, gone just like that.

He slipped out of the room and to a back office for a split second while the forensics team hurried in after Gordon. They saw eachother one last time before Batman fled.

Hopping up onto a rooftop, Bruce came to a stop. He looked out over the city's horizon to watch it glimmer in the afternoon light. He didn't get to see it like this very often; alive and vibrant compared to the dark, reflective underbelly of the night. 

It was a refreshing sight, to say the least; a reminder as to why he loved Gotham.

Time was of the greatest importance. If he didn't get in his own documentation of the case then the police would certainly get it themselves. Knowing them, they'd lock it off from public access, which meant extra work for Bruce. 

He went to call Alfred, but stopped himself short. Bruce didn't need to get Alfred involved with this one. As much as he wanted it, the man had been stressed all month. Bruce buried his emotions about that, and sighed.

"Download the phone records for Stolin's Jewellers in The Heights," he told the mini computer on his arm. 

It connected directly to the system back at the cave. With any luck it would all be there for him by the time he got back.

Bruce leapt up and hooked for a higher vantage to fly. The cool air made it difficult to breathe, but Bruce didn't mind. He shot up and dipped back towards the manor, ignoring any minor police transmissions he picked up on the way.

Although he had almost forgotten, the quiet journey brought back Gordon's words. His previous state of panic had him swallowing harshly against the tight feeling in his chest.

Joker had never intended to blow any place up. It was all another gimmick to get onto Bruce's nerves again. The worst part wasn't that Joker had done any of it - he had done it before, after all - but rather that Bruce could understand why. For once he got it. 

Why Joker couldn't have told him still made him angry.

They had nearly gotten killed because of Joker's antics and lack of preparation. His stomach twisted, and he looked down below.

Joker could have been killed. 

\----

[DAY 8 - WEEK TWO - 1:16 PM]

The schedule was all mixed up.

When he had gotten it he had assumed it would be simple to go through all of the names, but it proved to be more of a challenge than he had expected. He had even pulled two all nighters to try and decipher all of it.

Joker flipped the page to the next person on the list. By order it was names, but he needed it by time. All of the pictures were low quality as well, but he was certain that if this Mabel character were there then she would have some sort of disguise on anyhow.

At that point he had been able to place all of the guards into sections by age and race. It had taken hours to do with how many people worked there - he somehow hadn't expected that many, seeing as Arkham didn't bother with anything else - but he had eventually gotten it done.

One section was dedicated to Doc Avery. The night after he had seen her resume Joker had gotten that grumpy old janitor to do him one more favour and make an extra copy of it. It was all spread out on the floor next to him with the rest sitting in his lap. 

Avery wasn't necessarily the mastermind behind anything, but she was definitely involved in something against him. All of their conversations felt rehearsed. On Joker's part it was all _yes, and_. He was a bounce back liar. Avery knew it as well.

Every word that came from her mouth was planned accordingly. He could tell by the way she fidgeted when she talked, like a stage actor trying to appear more fluid. He himself had done as much many times in his performance for Gotham. _Over acting._

Both of them were skirting around the topics of the other, apprehensive, but not certain as to why that was. By all appearances Avery didn't have any clue as to what Joker suspected of her. He was content with that. The only obstacle was thay he felt the same way.

Joker jolted with the sudden knock on his door. No one ever came in during this time. He scowled while scrambling to tuck everything away. 

"Coming!" he sang out, but the guard wasn't having it.

The door swung open and Joker stood straight up. He grinned maliciously at the guard glaring at him, but it faltered when they stepped to the side.

He was one hundred percent certain that he forgot how to breathe when the Batman stepped into view. Joker's feet were stuck to the floor where he stood in the same way his twitching smile was plastered to his face. 

Batman swooped into the room silently with a characteristic frown on. That was great. He wasn't pleased.

_Probably still pissed about the explosives,_ Joker thought as the guard spouted something about how much time they had. 

The door clicked shut, then locked, and the two stood staring in silence. Bruce shifted from heel to heel, and Joker assumed he had averted his gaze. He always did that when he didn't know what to do.

"You came," Joker heard himself say, then proceeded to curse himself for the habit of filling in silence.

Bruce had grown a short beard over the week. He must not have slept. Joker couldn't say he looked much better other than the lack of facial hair. It wasn't any less different.

"We need to talk," Bruce spoke in a carefully monotoned voice.

"So this wasn't a friendly visit?" Joker teased, and pouted. "And here I was thinking you missed me."

Batman scoffed, much to Joker's disdain. He felt the pang in his chest, but ignored it. He chuckled and pulled out a chair.

"Talk to me, Bats," he offered up, and sat up properly, hands folded on the tabletop.

Bruce took his seat across from Joker. Every inch of him was dragged down at the sight of the gaunt clown before him. If it was even possible he happened to look paler than the last time Bruce had seen him, and that was only a week ago.

There was no way it had been a week. It had to have at least been three. The facts didn't change, and the date proved the point, but Bruce couldn't help but squirm at the thought.

"The explosives," he settled on. Pleasantries would make this harder.

Joker leaned back, and his smile widened. "Ah. Gordo talked to you, did he? We had a nice chat, y'know. Him and I. Me and hi-"

"Why?" Bruce pushed, and leaned forward in a way that Joker could easily recognise as stress. He blinked. 

"I think you know why, darling."

Bruce scratched at the beard like he did the back of his head, scowling, and shook his head. Joker's stomach turned into a pit, but he didn't drop his expression. 

Resigned, Bruce glanced at the door, then whispered, "You should have told me, Joker. If we had had a plan-"

"You never would have attacked me," Joker finished. This seemed to freeze Bruce. Joker made a wispy chuckle. "Fake it til you make it, Bats."

Bruce's shoulders fell down, and he frowned. "You nearly fell out of a window."

Joker took up the implication, and gulped. So this wasn't about the bombs then. Nor was it about the window scene. 

"Yeah," he agreed, eyes narrowing. "But I didn't."

The pair sat with down turned smiles, arms crossed and eyes cast away right up until Joker snorted. It caught Bruce's attention.

"I, uh," Joker chuckled, and waggled a finger towards Bruce. "I like the beard. Adds a nice touch to the whole anguished hero thing."

Bruce rolled his eyes. Joker must have sensed it based off of the hand covering his persistent laughter. "Shut up."

"I'm serious! It looks great!" 

"Right," Bruce grumbled. "Love your ashy complexion. Complements the greasy hair."

Joker gasped, coughing another snort, and tilted his head. "Did the bat just make a joke?"

Bruce grunted and shook his head to convey his frusteration, but Joker saw right through it. He smiled in that gentle way he gave Bruce whenever he managed to wriggle a smile from the man. It made Bruce's ears burn.

Joker settled down by dramatically wiping tears from his eyes while breathing out a final few chuckles. Bruce sunk into the metal chair.

They fell into a heavy silence. This one wasn't filled with the same discomfort as before. It felt safe in the sense that they were together; Jay and Bruce. That same dance pulling them against eachother just as Alfred had described.

Joker traced rings on the tabletop while Bruce tapped his arm. For the first time since they could remember neither were willing to start off.

They always had something to talk about during these visits. Batman tended to be there for some sort of interrogation. Joker always had a quip on the tip of his tongue. It tended to end in a bit of blood.

Bruce's brow furrowed. He looked up at Joker sitting there looking like a sickly ragdoll version of himself, thought to the strange man with an eccentric personality he had come to know, and realised he didn't know if he could end anything like this bloody.

"I-" he started, but it fell off when he didn't know what he had been saying. Joker quirked a brow, and smirked.

"Spit it out, love. Don't have all day."

Bruce wriggled, and bit his cheek, then whispered like it was a secret, "I don't know why I came here."

Joker looked up at him through his lashes. "Me neither."

This made Bruce laugh, to both of their shock. He gulped. Then recovered by frowning. Joker didn't appear bothered. In fact, he looked almost content.

Both of Bruce's hands curled into tight fists. 

"I should be pissed at you," he grumbled.

Joker's forehead pulled with the narrow of his eyes. Curiosity and confusion mixed into a cocktail of emotions that made Joker smile a little.

"You're not?" he asked despite himself. 

Bruce thought on this. He was holding his breath. He only noticed because of the pressure building in his skull with each passing second. The fists released with his exhale. He shook his head.

"No."

Joker humphed, then leaned down to rest his head in his hands. "Good to know."

Something crossed Bruce that Joker could not identify. For a second it frightened him. Joker suddenly realised it had been a while since he hadn't been able to recognise anything about the Batman.

In a quick movement Bruce had pulled out a pad of paper and a marker. He started scribbling onto it in front of Joker, who was too stunned to question it. He didn't even stop when the guard knocked.

"Time's up, Batman," they shouted and went to open up.

Joker looked to Bruce in slight panic, but stopped when the paper was ripped off and tucked half hazardously into Joker's shirt. Batman stood when the door opened.

Joker croaked out the beginning of his question, but the guard cut him off. Murder boiled in his eyes for a beat before he caught Bruce's final look. Even without the eyes there was so much raw emotion that Joker had to huff.

"See ya round, Bats," he called, and hoped that that would be true soon enough.

The cell slammed shut, and Joker found himself alone again. He slumped over. Whatever he had been expecting from that visit, that had not been it. If he had been exhausted before he couldn't even begin to describe how he felt then.

And he still had an appointment with the good doctor.

Groaning, Joker slid down the chair and practically crumpled to the floor. Why couldn't Bruce just have a normal conversation for once? Not that Joker was better. 

Remembering the paper, Joker removed it from his shirt pocket. It was flattened out with the table's corner. Bruce's handwriting somehow managed to be uppercase and lowercase at the same time. Joker snickered, then forced himself to read.

_Left this out of the map. Follow if you need anything._

Joker grinned, scoffing his disbelief, and flipped the paper over. He couldn't decide if this was out of concern or something else. Either way the messily drawn map managed to make his heart stop.

It was a section of Arkham with a star indicating to the location. There was even a line estimating how to get there from his cell with a few lines that Joker assumed were the ventilation. 

It was labeled as the bat cave.

Although he wasn't surprised that Bruce had a cave located in Arkham, Joker couldn't help but be shocked by Bruce's willingness to give the location to him. He must look worse than anticipated.

Joker hid it in his pant line rather than with the other papers. If anyone happened to find any of the others then he was not risking the safety of Bruce's identity with it.

The thought struck him as odd immediately afterwards, but he shook it away as self preservation. 

Joker sat back on the creaking mattress, and tucked his legs up underneath him.

Maybe this wasn't so bad.


	22. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> I wanted you all to know how much I appreciate your comments. I know I struggle with responding, but I read every one of them and each one makes my day. You're all so wonderful and ily so much for everything you've done. Thank you 💕
> 
> Next up is a fun fact!!  
>  I actually named this story after a Christmas(y) song that I absolutely adore. It is called Silent Night in Gotham (obviously lmao) and it is a composition of Silent Night written to sound like it comes from the Batman universe. I highly suggest having a listen. It puts me in the perfect mood for both the holidays and for our favorite dark knight (:
> 
> Have a nice day everyone!  
> Grey
> 
> Silent Night in Gotham: https://youtu.be/IjIBH7tYGi8
> 
> Discord: https://discord.gg/eGYryS6

Gordon had been right about the press.

Every channel Bruce turned to had coverage of the robbery murder. Speculations on how it was going as well as interviews from some of the police were on every screen.

The worst part wasn't even that it was all Gotham had to talk about. What got to Bruce was the fact that the second piece of attention was the Batman. Apparently his appearance at the scene right after the scuffle with Joker was enough to have him be the talk of the town.

On the upside, that meant that no one was focusing on him working with Joker anymore. They were all too distracted by the body to even consider the 'Christmas Clown Threat,' as the gazette had come to call it. At least one positive had come out of Bruce's misfortune.

He had been scanning the glove fingerprints for later identification. If Bruce could pinpoint where it anything had been before that then he could figure out which customer had been with the manager. Everyone was wearing gloves this time of year, but the leather was distinct. Though it could take time, it was better than nothing.

Bruce rubbed his eyes harshly enough that he felt pressure build. It was getting more and more difficult to see the screen with how watery his eyes were. As if to taunt him, Bruce had to force down a yawn.

Last time that he had avoided sleep like this was when he and Joker were planning. It was difficult to believe that that had been over two weeks ago. Bruce was dizzy thinking about how much time was going by over the course of all this.

He was tempted to call down Alfred for assistance. As much as Bruce liked to say that he was a loner in his job, he would never get along without the help of those around him. He would be dead hundreds of times over if it weren't for them.

The looks of exhaustion and concern that had plagued Alfred the last times Bruce had seen him tore him apart. He would rather spend weeks on one case than put Alfred under more stress. Bruce would survive, somehow. He had done it before.

Feeling his head swimming, Bruce slammed his forehead down on the tabletop. He ran his sweaty palms over his shirt, but it didn't feel right. He needed to move more. He didn't think much before he was pulling open drawers and sifting through objects he hadn't thought about in years.

He had to crack a small smile when he saw the box of peppermint Kiss candies in the bottom of his personal items. Alfred must have put them there since Bruce had never had the time to do it. He fiddled absently with one of the chocolates while he rifled through the rest of the drawer.

" _Major money businesses all across the city are shutting down until the thieves have been caught. Local shop owner Hector Bennit states that he would rather 'lose customers than lose his life.' Authorities say that all of this is an overreaction to yesterday's investigation at S..."_

Bruce scowled and tossed a few useless items to the floor. These people were already in enough panic from Joker's announcement. This nonsense about closing down shops was getting out of hand. He had already heard five other reports of people who weren't even big sellers shutting down.

Jim had called him earlier. Police figured it was some sort of plan that involved the city's economic stance being at a low for a wider attack, or even something as little as it being easier to target closed stores. This was Gotham, though, so the latter was doubtful. 

Bruce shook his head and clicked one of the pens he found to see if it worked. It didn't. Frusteration made Bruce grip it until it snapped. The cartridge was empty as well. 

It didn't feel reasonable. Jim had thought so too, but it had been the GCPD's best guess. They needed some sort of lead since they lacked the advanced tech the Bat had access to.

Bruce's fingers brushed against something small. It was plastic, and when he grabbed at it it squished in his palm. Within in instant he had pulled it out to inspect.

The computer beeped at the same time. Bruce looked up at the notification, and felt a sense of relief fall over him. The numbers called for the jewel store were finally in. 

It turned out that high end places like that got a lot more calls every day than Bruce had expected, so it took a few hours longer to download the files.

Bruce clicked them open and pulled the screen in front of him to replace the others. At last silence fell over the cave. He smiled silently. 

The bag in his hand fell over as a subtle reminder that it was there. When Bruce looked down at it he could sense that every bone in his body was about ready to snap in half with his next breath.

It was the drug sample that he had picked up from one of those thugs in the alley. He still needed to start on investigating the trade, and Penguin's involvement with it. On the plus side, he has already begun, so he had a step forward. It wasn't the worst case he had ever gotten into.

Even with that thought Bruce couldn't help but feel crushed by the workload. He was taking on too much and he knew it.

Bruce hopped over to where a scanning table was and dropped the substance there for later. With all of the trouble surrounding the robbery, it would be easier to lead a low level job like that during the night. No one will expect Batman to look into something less important while the city is under attack. It was almost perfectly well timed.

Back to the task at hand, Bruce enlarged the list. He needed to separate all of the calls that had taken place from the time the needed one happened.

The body had been in there for a while, by the looks of it, but the manager had been present in the early morning, so it had gone down some time after twelve.

Bruce went forward to one of the calls then let it play out. As expected, someone at the front desk picked up. At the other end of the room the manager was greeting guests as they walked into the store. Some stopped to chat, but Bruce couldn't get a decent look at their faces, or hands, for that matter.

He scrolled down on the list to a later time where the manager didn't appear on screen. It was late afternoon, and around closing time. Bruce pieced out the calls that took place just before and after the alarm sounded. Only five were going out.

Bruce paused the security to log in to the business's private lines, and selected all of the correct numbers dialed at that time. Two of them were to inform the buyers that their investment was ready for pick up, and one was out to their suppliers. The other two appeared to be personal calls. Bruce only had to figure out which was which. Simple enough.

While he selected the first to play, he staggered over to where he had dropped the pouch. A little amount of powder was scattered over the top while the rest was placed under a microscope. The liquid injection was placed in a tube for later.

Static played on the call first. Bruce grimaced and leaned over the microscope for a look. 

_"Hello?"_ someone asked in a low rasp. " _Pick up, someone, I need backup, and fast. The alarm is going off."_

There was a long pause where the original speaker was obviously becoming irritated. They sighed heavily into the speaker and mumbled a few choice words.

_"What?"_ someone replied at last. _"Why are you calling? You know this line is for emergencies only."_

Bruce's brows pulled together even as he focused in on the powder. It was fine in texture; almost like miniscule shards of glass.

_"What took you so long? Actually- You know, I don't want to know what you do in your free time. Just call back up to my location, or something. We've had a mistake."_

_"Oh, yeah? What type? If it's somethin' small I'm sure the boss won't mind too much-"_

_"The manager is dead, man,"_ they hissed. 

_"Well damn,"_ the other mumbled. _"How did he…?"_

_"It doesn't matter, alright? Will you just do your job already so we can forget all this?"_

Bruce humphed, and added a small droplet of water to the powder. It didn't react in any special way. Just like sand, it absorbed it and turned a slightly darker shade in that area. He sighed.

The call was concerning him. Bruce's ears tuned to the sudden pitch change as the caller's end blared with the noise of some screams and a loud beeping. The police had arrived.

_"Shit. Shit shit shit,_ shit _, okay, revise, don't send the backup. We can figure this out on our own. Don't tell him anything, you got that? Forget I called."_

_"Wait, but-_ "

The ringer buzzed to leave the cave in a sort of empty silence - the one where there's a whole crowd of people talking, but not one of them registers. A white noise silence that leaves a hole in your brain.

Bruce blinked when he realised he had been staring at the wall listening to it for a while too long. He rubbed at his eyes again, turned and quietly commanded the audio to shut off.

From his best guess it appeared that the murder wasn't intentional. Whatever had happened, the theif had not meant to leave the body there. Attention was not what they were seeking. That threw the GCPD's ideas out the window.

Back to square one until the tracking on that call came back. Bruce leaned his elbows against the closed scanner and pushed away the microscope.

It was the first time in a long while that he could remember himself genuinely struggling with cases. Juggling three high maintenance - four if counting the literal case of Cunningham's death for Wayne - was something he used to do with some form of stability. So what if that was considered too much dark roast coffee, no sleep and enough non-drowsy medication it would kill anyone without training?

Bruce let himself fall into Joker's spinning chair and tip his head over the back. The free space to his neck made him somewhat antsy, but the rest of him went into a deep state of aching joints in need of a rest.

Thinking back, he had barely sat down any since he visited Joker, and that was about ten hours ago. Bruce's persistent need to stay on his feet and ability to do so for hours on end paid off when it was needed, but it was definitely a bad habit when he was working too hard. 

He could clearly remember Joker's scolding finger and dark eyes as he led Bruce to a bed and forced both of them to just sit and relax for some time. The bony shoulders of Joker nudging his as they leaned on the other, too tired to do much else. Yet they hadn't fallen asleep.

Bruce grimaced. Thinking about what would have happened if they had woken to Alfred prodding the Joker's body, and both tangled up made Bruce flush; second hand embarrassment for something that never even happened. 

However, the thought lingered on the edge of Bruce's mind. Inky black invaded his senses, and all Bruce could come to realise was that he had closed his eyes at some point. He couldn't bring himself to open either of them.

The visit with Joker had been rather nice, if he had anything to say about it. He had been expecting worse. Maybe a punch would have been thrown in to rough Joker up like the old times. Bruce had gone in thinking it would be messy; lots of arguing, blood, guard intrusion if it got to a worse point.

The near close to apologies was never what Bruce had been close to anticipating. The light joking, the eyes and smile that were just a tad too happy to see him, or the heavy warmth that spread in Bruce's chest when it was confirmed that Joker really had kept his promise. 

It was the closest to a sorry either of them would ever get to.

Bruce had slipped into a half state of unconsciousness by the time he found himself thinking about that. Just as he was falling into complete darkness, the urgent click of shoes interrupted him.

"My apologies, Master Bruce," Alfred frowned, and through the blurry haze Bruce could see the genuine regret on him. "There's an important call for you upstairs."

Bruce forced down a groaned and stood. His knees crackled. "From who?"

"Donald Pyke, sir."

Blood freezing, Bruce breathed out through his teeth. When the guy told Bruce he would stick by him, it was not supposed to be like this. Bruce was really beginning to consider firing the bastard.

"What did he say?" he asked while he hurriedly followed Alfred back up. 

"I don't know," Alfred answered. "He said it was 'private information for the client,' and that I cannot be privileged as such."

The annoyed edge to the comment woke Bruce up with a smirk. He nodded, and pushed over to the phone sitting out on the desk up top.

"Not with me," Bruce grumbled, then tapped the speakerphone option. Alfred smiled some. "It's late, Donald. What's the problem?" 

Pyke cleared his throat. "So very sorry to disturb you at this time, Mr. Wayne, but I figured it would be best to hear this earlier than later."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Donald."

"The Cunningham family is suing," Pyke babbled.

Alfred and Bruce shared a look. With the state of their family alone, a sue wasn't that much of a problem. It was a trillion dollar company, after all.

"And the family wants to talk to you," continued Pyke. "At the funeral."

There it was. The hook, line, and _sinker._ Bruce puffed a breath.

"Can't I decline?" he rumbled out, shaking his head at the phone. 

Pyke made out a gruff laugh, and clicked his tongue. "Not if you want the press back on your case."

Alfred winced at the same time as Bruce scowled. Guilt would be the only reasoning the news would portray, and that would put his place as a suspect back into the spotlight within an hour.

For a solid second Bruce's frustrated sleep addled brain actually considered that to be the better option.

"Right," he eventually sighed. "Great. When is the funeral?"

Alfred was already taking out a pen and the calendar on the wall. Bruce huffed to himself. They looked at each other with something between amusement and worry for the next few words.

"Er," Pyke stuttered. "The nineteenth."

Against his will, Bruce's eyes slipped shut and his jaw clenched. He crumpled up whatever papers had been under his grasp in a way to release his building tension.

It was the seventeenth. That meant that Bruce only had one day to rest up and get prepared for a conversation that he had almost no clue on how to get ready for. The bags under his eyes and whiskers itching his nose made a point to feel more prominent right then.

"Is that all, Donald?" 

Bruce felt Alfred's presence next to him in wait to end the call. The moment the first syllable of yes came out, Alfred had hung up. A hand rested on his shoulder.

"How lovely," Alfred said with lips pressed thin.

"I don't have time for this."

"Yes, yes, I know," Alfred agreed. "Unfortunately 'I don't have time' isn't a valid excuse for a laid back playboy."

Alfred received a steely glare, but didn't appear affected by it. He stepped back and smoothed out his suit jacket with a sour smile. He wasn't any more excited about this than Bruce.

"I suggest you shave and shower, then take a nice long rest before the date. Respectfully, sir, no one is interested in meeting Bruce Wayne: chronic insomniac."

As enticing as that sounded, Bruce pulled himself away from the dragging thoughts of his brain to the different subjects needing attention downstairs. A solid frown struck him. 

Alfred, in all of his Bruce Wayne reading glory, tutted his disapproval. "Those can wait, Master Bruce."

"No," Bruce glowered,"they can't. If these aren't solved, the city-"

"Will manage under the hand of the proper authorities," Alfred scolded and arched a brow.

Bruce, despite his vocal protests, allowed himself to be lead away. He glared at Alfred to make his point, but Alfred only blinked at him.

"I'm sure the GCPD can handle themselves for the time being. They solved plenty of cases before your time. Besides, James knows what he's doing."

Once they turned to Bruce's room they stopped, and Alfred stood stalk straight. His arms were parallel to his sides while Bruce leaned on the way in an awkward position.

"If anything comes up, I'll inform you immediately," Alfred ended so that Bruce would relax. It worked in some ways. "Understood?" 

Bruce knew that Alfred would never dare disturb Bruce when he was - at last - getting some sleep, but it was the thought that counted. He sighed and agreed.

"Good," Alfred said. Bruce didn't miss the heave of relief. "Now get in there and wash up. You look and smell like you've been to the grave."

Bruce put up a small smile. It fell, and his brows pulled together. "Alfred?" he called. 

Alfred's gaze shot up, and his head tilted slightly. "Yes, sir?"

The hems of Bruce's shirt were falling apart some. A string was hanging down. It wrapped around Bruce's finger as he played with it. Funny how he only noticed it when he was avoiding something.

"I went to see him," he offered in a voice much smaller than his own. "Yesterday."

A tick of silence passed while Alfred considered this. He hummed, then nodded. "And?"

Bruce gaped, not sure what to say, then settled on, "What do mean?"

Alfred, albeit slightly annoyed by the boy's ignorance to some situations, repeated with more context, " _And_ how was he?"

It was in that moment that Bruce realised they were both avoiding his name. He didn't feel much like pointing it out. He figured Alfred was only mirroring his actions anyhow.

"He was..." Bruce swallowed. He thought back to the gangly clown dressed in raggedy orange and far too skinny. He grimaced. "He wasn't looking great."

"He looked like he does every time he's in Arkham," Alfred finished. 

Bruce shook his head with perhaps too much aggression. "No, this was different. He looked paler, if that's even possible, and gaunt, like they don't feed the patients, an-"

"...and exactly how he does every time he's in Arkham," Alfred pushed. This time his hand fell on Bruce's arm to further his point. "You just never noticed it before, sir."

Croaking to disagree, the argument fell off of Bruce's tongue. He frowned and glared down at the hand on him, but didn't move away. Instead he covered it with his own.

"It's alright to be worried about him, Master Bruce. I would be a fool to admit even I wasn't somewhat nervous."

Bruce scoffed lightly, though he didn't rebut. He didn't doubt that. Even if it were for different reasons, Alfred was too caring not to worry.

Mostly the problem was that Bruce couldn't shake whatever his own reason might be.

"I'm not worried," he said anyhow. "He just- If he fucks this up-"

"Language, sir."

Bruce had half the mind to glare. He settled on closing his eyes. The action proved to make him sway some. 

God, he was so tired. This wasn't the right time for arguing about his twisted emotions. This was _Alfred_. He shouldn't have been arguing to begin with. 

"He just looked so…," Bruce mumbled, but wasn't sure where to go with it. Sickly? Small? Both were true, but weren't out of the ordinary. In a voice nearly too small to hear, and wavering with uncertainty, Bruce settled on,"powerless."

Alfred's lips pressed tight in a line, but he managed a small smile anyhow. His hand rubbed Bruce's arm in a comforting motion, then pulled back.

"Get some rest, Bruce. I'm sure sleep deprivation isn't helping with these thoughts."

The understanding in his gaze was more grounding than Bruce had felt in a while.

"Right," he breathed. 

It was true. His brain was a dangerous place when exhausted. Bruce huffed. 

"Goodnight, Alfred."

Alfred smiled so his eyes wrinkled around the edges. Bruce felt lighter at the very sight. "Goodnight, sir."

When the door clicked shut Bruce couldn't help himself from slamming his forehead down against it. 

This was a disaster. Joker wasn't doing well in Arkham, and that was about as bad as Bruce could think of it. With his knowledge on the Cunningham murder he had a feeling that the funeral would be an unpleasant encounter. Both of the other cases were dead ends as of the current moment.

Sometimes he wished he could run - that he could hop in a car and forget everything about his life. To leave, not from a jet with a group of socialites, but in an old van to where no one would recognise his face. He didn't have to be strictly Wayne nor Batman. He could just be Bruce.

That would be the life. 

Except it wasn't, and never would be. Gotham was more important. The people were more important.

Bruce trudged over to the bathroom. His life didn't make room for something so perfect. It was gritty and dark and spattered with blood. Bruce's destiny didn't fall in line with personal happiness. It was a fact he'd succumbed to long ago.

He took his time shaving, but not necessarily for precision. He couldn't seem to focus for long enough to do it quickly. 

Bruce winced on reflex when he ended up getting a knick on his throat. He watched with tired eyes as the small bead of blood left a slow trail down his neck. Then, heaving a breath, he wiped it all away and patched up the spot.

He would have to put on some makeup to cover up any bruises, cuts or eye bags he was just then noticing. It seemed that shaving revealed all of the marks left on his skin over the last few weeks. Sighing, Bruce left to sit on the edge of the bed, then splayed back to face the ceiling. 

Whoever had pulled the robbery was under panic. They had a specific line set up for emergencies, so it wasn't the random payphone that Bruce had expected. He didn't know how he would track it, being random, but he would find a way.

He closed his eyes and rolled over so that his head was smothered underneath the pillow. Bruce forced his jaw to unclench, then followed with his taught muscles. Within a minute he was asleep.

Distantly, he wondered if Joker was doing well. 

\----

[DAY 9 - WEEK TWO - 1:20 PM]

Joker whistled some as he walked along.

The rattle of the chains around him made it somewhat difficult to stay on tune, but, if he were being honest, he never had been in the first place. Stopping to exhale a wistful sigh, Joker's head lolled over to the guard walking just behind him. 

"You can come up further, you know," he cooed at them, and a devilish smile pulled at his lips. "I only bite if you ask nicely."

"Keep walking," she snapped.

Joker's chest chest when he heard the muffled voice. He held his breath for a second while he tried not to let out a nervous chuckle. 

This guard had never led him to Avery. With any luck she was the red head they were scouting for. Somewhere inside his head he knew it would most likely end badly if she was, but the thought of catching her made it less stressful.

In part he doubted it was her. There were probably hundreds of female sounding security teams in Arkham, and whoever Mabel was didn't seem idiotic enough to trail him.

Joker still held some semblance of hope. After all, he would need it if he ever wanted to get out. And that he very much did. 

"Bossy," he rumbled, and scrunched his nose up in a smile. "Not usually my thing, but I can make it work if you can."

Coughing a harsh laugh when her baton struck his diaphragm, Joker forced himself upright and to breathe. Recovering fast from years of experience, his feet twisted so that he was walking backwards to face her. Joker's eyebrows wiggled.

"Come on, don't be so harsh! You know you like me."

After a wink he found himself being spun around and shoved. Joker giggled when he stumbled over the chains. 

"Keep quiet and eyes forward," she spoke.

The other two guards shared a look with eachother, then to her, as if to ask if she wanted out. Her resounding glare deflated both of their attempts.

Joker smiled, sickly sweet. "Good to know I'm not too much for you. Love a gal who can hold her end-"

"Joker."

Joker came to an abrupt stop. Two of the guards bumped into his back, sounding like they were going to argue, but snapped their mouths shut when they also spotted her.

Avery was standing outside of the door with a smile on her face. She walked forward to the group, and looked at the guards in thanks.

"You shouldn't be taunting these people," she scolded. "They're only doing their jobs."

"Taunting?" he exclaimed. His elbow went down on Possibly-Mabel's shoulder. "They love me! Why else would you they be following me? Not my fault I have a paparazzi."

Avery showed her disapproval with a hum, then jotted something down on her damn notepad again. 

Joker narrowed his eyes. He hated when she did that. Even if this was all a ploy, not knowing her thoughts on him was still a prick in his side. Was communication too much to ask?

"Keep moving," piped up Possibly-Mabel, and pushed Joker again. 

Joker scoffed, and threw a glare over to her. Then, he looked to Avery. 

"You see how they treat me here, doc? Like a dog. It's sickening."

He had to admit, he was partially hoping that she would stop them. In any case it would mean that Joker might have more time to talk to the lady. 

"Didn't you just say that they love you, Joker?"

As expected, the doctor once again let him down. For once could any of these people make the investigation easier?

Joker rolled his eyes and he stopped in the doorway to throw his hands into the air. "People love their animals, don't they? Keep up, Teresa."

Avery raised a brow. "My name isn't Teresa."

"Isn't it?" It was Florence. "Well, you look like a Teresa."

In a subtle motion, Joker's gaze flicked down to the notepad. A smile crept up on his face, to which Avery didn't appear to like. Joker gigged. 

"Doesn't matter," he walked forward and did a quick spin and smile. "I prefer doc anyway." 

Avery raised a word of protest, but by the time it was out Joker already had the notepad in his hand. She choked out her scoff, but was cut off by Joker's waggling finger.

"Ah ah! I can't read with noise. Too distracting."

He pretended to adjust glasses on his nose, and plopped down with his legs crossed on the table.

"Let's see here... Extremely funny," Joker noted, and giggled. He winked at Avery. "Obviously. Charming, of course. Ruggedly handsome - ah, shucks. You make me blush." 

"Joker, if you do not stop this horrendous behaviour-"

"What?" Joker piped up, raising a defiant grin. "You'll send me to the padded room? Trust me, it's not all that bad. Been there done that. A lot."

His eyes landed on the actual note she had scribbled down. Any sort of amusement he had fell into an annoyed scowl.

"Joker," Avery warned as the guards swarmed in.

His eyes snapped up. Half of of things on here were way off of the charts to a point where Joker had no clue where she was coming from. Blood disorder? She had to be kidding. This one was just plain out frustrating. 

" _Delusions of grandeur?_ " he spurred.

Joker didn't even try to keep in his irritated laughter. He chose the dramatic route instead by clasping his hands together and leaping up towards her. The the notes flew everywhere. His hands over his chest. 

"Really, Teresa, I'm offended! I may be a narcissist, but let it be known that I suffer no such delusions. Not about that, at least."

Honestly, he wasn't all that bothered. Many doctors had made much worse accusations. None were correct - duh - but they had at least tried.

That was what bothered him. Avery clearly knew what she was doing, and she was definitely there for a specific purpose. Yet she faked everything. It was like she didn't even care. 

Here Joker was working his ass off nightly - seriously, average of three hours sleep, which included tossing and turning - and Avery couldn't have given less of a shit about her job. All she did was scribble down whatever word popped into her mind. 

Besides, everyone in Gotham knew his name face. He was practically bigger than Bruce Wayne. Which, thinking about it now, it only worked to make him giggle, but it was true. Grandeur was one of the last of his problems. Especially at this time.

Was this projecting his own case frusteration on to Avery? Absolutely! Was Joker going to stop because of that? One hundred percent negative on that.

"Calm down, Joker," Avery commanded. 

Strong hands on both sides of Joker grabbed him and forced him to sit. Joker laughed in their faces. It was truly funny how Arkham would say calm down then rough you up right after. He thought so, at least.

His cuffs were chained to the floor so he couldn't move any. Joker gasped, then pouted as Avery made her weary way towards him. The unshed tears in his eyes added to the unruly sight.

"Seriously!" he blabbered, snickering through gasps. "A guy can't have a simple conversation without getting locked up in this place."

"I think we've had enough of that for the day," Avery scolded. 

"Enough of what?" Joker spat. "Bold departures from the truth? Because I know you have theories, doc, and good ones, too. Don't you?"

Their eyes flashed, one with intent and one with suspicion. Joker's accusation had struck a chord in Avery. With how she was reacting it wasn't a good one either. 

If it weren't for the sense of power that Joker felt over her, he would definitely be regretting the decision to taunt.

Joker shook his head and smiled. "Mm. 'Bout as much as I expected."

She didn't appear to have another response at the ready. In a tone of defeat and finality, Avery sighed and ordered, "Take the Joker back to his room. If he's feeling better later maybe we can chat."

"Don't be a sour puss, doc," Joker called, his lips pulling up and head tilting. "We were just having a little fun!"

"Your psychotic breaks are not fun, Joker. You need to be treated."

Looking the complete opposite to the last minute's amusement, Joker rolled his eyes.

Using finger quotes, he drawled,"Right. _Psychotic breaks._ " Then, mumbling to the guard next to him, scoffed,"Doctors, huh? Can't take a joke."

He nudged possibly Mabel with his elbow, but the mistake was made clear when she twisted it to near dislocation. Joker broke out into a second spout of quieter laughter in result.

"We'll talk tomorrow, Joker," Avery finished.

Not an ounce of guilt crossed her expression as she watched the security detail grab at him with too much force to be necessary. If anything Joker would have said she was pleased.

"Don't wait up for me!" he chuckled over his shoulder. 

Though he couldn't see or hear Avery's response, he could feel her glower all the way down the hallway. Whatever her deal was, Joker really wanted to know.

He had a feeling something big was coming. She had a plan. Something about all of that felt off; like she had planned it out, in some weird fortune teller way.

Maybe that was it. Avery was a fortune teller and just really didn't like what she saw. If that was the case then Joker wouldn't mind her all too much. He probably wouldn't like what he saw of himself in the future either.

It was only until they took a wrong turn did Joker realise they weren't heading back to his cell. His nose scrunched, and he looked to Possibly-Mabel. 

"Do you need a map?" he rasped to her. "I hate to tell you but we're going the wrong way."

They turned a corner with his chains tugging. His nerves frayed when he noticed the lack of cameras up top, and the memory of those tapes came back to him. 

The one with his faked death.

Joker opened his mouth in time to croak the beginning to his question, but it didn't make it out. 

On instinct he spit out a chuckle. A spike of pain radiated from his skull. He could feel blood streaming from a newly split eyebrow. Joker didn't have time to recover before a knee came in direct contact with the fresh wound.

"Hoo hoo," Joker pitched, and smiled. "Keeping the party going, are we?"

It really was unfortunate that he wasn't great at hand to hand.

Joker ducked at an oncoming hook, but didn't have time to calculate the grab from behind. Some other guard's hand slammed his face into the wall, then the other jabbed their baton between his ribs. It swung up at full length across his face.

For a guy who had just barely recovered from an intense fight with the Batman, Joker had to say he was doing okay.

Another swung around to hit the side of his head with their foot. Joker caught it, but the shift got his legs caught up in the chains, and fell. He was able to bring the attacker down with him, so he took it as a win.

Before the guard could get up Joker was slid up behind them with the wrist cuffs gathered around their throat. The guy tried to choke something out, but only coughed and tried to grab back. Joker's chest rumbled with amusement.

"Speak up, doll, I can't hear ya. Anyone ever tell you it's rude to mumble?"

Joker yelped in surprise when his foot chains were pulled out from him. Playing dirty. It forced him to let go of the breathless guard, and got him a solid stomp to the nose. 

Rolling onto his back, Joker blinked hard against the blackness edging its way into his vision. 

"Tell me," he tried through wheezes. Ho's chest ached while he gasped,"what the point of this is? I'd like to report… poor business to the manager."

He grunted when a palm slammed down on his throat. The guard scowled. "Call it doctor's orders."

Either this was quite literally Avery's doing, or whoever she was supposedly working for was trying to send a message. 

Joker giggled. At least he got the talkative security to beat him up.

He had to give props to whoever was trying to ruin Bruce. Never before had he met someone willing to kick the shit out of him as a threat. Most were afraid that if they did that Joker would kill them.

They were right, of course. Guards who did this tended to be found dead during his escapes. 

This time he would make an exception, he supposed. Whether it was because he was impressed at the audacity or for Bruce's promise he couldn't say. 

Joker's hair was tugged up and a plated knee cracked under his chin. He missed biting his tongue off by a second. For what he assumed was plain fun, someone made to slam directly onto his lungs. He wheezed around a laugh, but it died off as quickly as it came. 

He knew this feeling intimately. Many times going head to head with the Batman left Joker dizzy and breathless, but they were never in a happy times way. Not during this part of the interaction, at the very least. 

Deciding enough was enough, Joker broke out a large beam and pointed to who he assumed was the blurry form of possibly Mabel. If they were going to keep going he might as well let them. This wasn't fun enough to go on.

"Hit me with your best shot, baby," Joker told her. "Make me scream."

Appearing agitated, she made her way forward. For a second he was certain she would take that quite literally. To his advantage, she was stopped early.

The bad part was that Joker's hands were being pulled over himself. The cuffs were wrapped around his wind pipe while a pair of legs held him in place, just as he had done a mere two minutes ago. 

Joker truly did loathe when people went for payback. It was a boring way to end a fight. That, and it was incredibly cliché. Really, it was always so predictable. Where was the creativity?

Though the cold of the chains was uncomfortable, Joker could manage. He had had many worse ways of going out. This was by far in the top five nicest. 

"Kinda comfy," he commented lamely, but wasn't sure if it even got out. He figured it must have when the chokehold got tighter.

"Don't kill him," someone mumbled out of Joker's reach.

"Why the hell not?"

He really did try to stay awake to hear the conversation. It sounded important, if not ringing and slightly fuzzy.

The multiple bloody head wounds and crushing of his windpipe won in the end. Joker tsked about it internally. 

He silently hoped Bruce was doing better than he was.


	23. New Policies

[DAY 10 - WEEK TWO - 9:08 AM] 

Silver hair and dark eyes.

Joker got a few snickers from the guards about the state of his complexion, but he paid no mind. The news of his outburst had spread like wildfire throughout the work force of Arkham by morning. He must have looked on the bad side based off of how they were treating him.

In general, facilities like this would give their injured patients a smidge of rest, a few painkillers, and shoot them pitying looks. An ice pack would be in order, at the very least.

Not at Arkham. The injured were considered playmates for the other's while the guards tend to push their limits with it.

Joker seemed to be getting mixed responses. Some of the guards were stone faced as per usual, though added in the side eye as he passed, while others were toeing the line with mocking him. 

He sent a particularly malicious grin to one of the ones who went far enough to shove him. The chain link bruise around his neck and raw wounds on his face must have made the frightening aspect worse than usual if the look they had said anything.

Joker laughed some, and snarled at them. It hurt his throat to do; like coughing with a cold. He swallowed to relieve that feeling, but it didn't alleviate the constricting feelings. 

It was exactly how he wanted it. Each and every one of these people were trained to be Joker's little puppies - to lie down and back up with every command he gave.

To be truthful, Joker was aching. His head was pounding to the beat of his heart and every small twitch sent a shockwave of pain over his face. He hated every second of it. Those bastards had done him in well.

He hadn't been hit to the rest of the body all that much, but Joker felt sluggish as though he had. Being choked out apparently didn't lead to as great of a sleep as he had hoped.

He faintly remembers waking up at some point. Other than that he was in his cell and that it was late, that time was fuzzy in his brain. That, and that he must have been looking over the research again. The second time he woke had been on the floor with paperwork underneath him. 

He had a vague recollection of what he had been researching other than one detail: silver hair and dark eyes. There was something about that picture that he wanted to know. The only problem being that he couldn't remember why. 

Joker was jostled somewhat too much as he was forced into his seat. He snapped out of his trance long enough to lean back and grab the guard by the collar.

The story was that Joker had had a severe breakdown after a session with his doctor, and the brave guards taking him back had had to restrain him. Joker had lashed out, and the guards had no choice but to resort to violence. It was a pitiful sight.

No one believed it, obviously. They all knew Joker better than that. Even so, it had been a well cooked up story, and the ridiculousness of it was just perfect enough to make people like it.

Face to face with the rough guard, Joker stretched out a beam, and puffed out a small chuckle. "Careful with how you use those hands, sweetheart. Wouldn't want to lose that magic touch anytime soon!"

The guard pressed their lips thin. Once again, to Joker's fortune, Arkham security knew full well not to mess with his threats. No one could ever be sure which were true. At this point he was convinced there was an actual rule in their training not to play into his jokes. 

He giggled when they stood and walked away in silence, and waggled his fingers at them. "See ya, hot stuff."

The table dipped and shifted under the weight of a new person. Joker felt something brush up on his shoulder, and his skin pricked. 

"Hey."

Joker's fingers curled into his palm as his eyes narrowed. The guy next to him nudged his back again. The arm Joker had been waving with lowered to his side, and he twisted to look at the thug.

"What may I help you with?" he asked, then made his best impression of a customer service smile.

It was one of his old loyalists, yet again. No surprise. They followed him around sniffing for Joker to throw them any treat they could get. 

As much as Joker enjoyed the attention of it, the lot got annoying after some time. Usually at this point he would have snapped and made an example of them.

"Is it true, boss?" they prodded.

For a reason Joker couldn't comprehend they appeared genuinely pissed off. It was quite amusing, he snickered, but stopped when those beady eyes bore into his own.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Joker answered, but wasn't clear on whether that was the correct answer or not. It didn't seem to please the thug any. 

Joker breathed out a few short giggles, and patted the guy's cheek. "It's sweet of you to look out for me and all - really, it is - but I go toe to toe with Bats-"

"Oh, trust me, sir," the guy sneered. Joker's fingers twitched with the urge to pull a trigger. Whether it was for himself or the guy he couldn't decide. "After what he did to you, he's getting away either."

"He's on our list."

A few mumbles of agreement came from the rest of the table surrounding Joker. His blood curdled at the very implication of what the list might be.

"Uh- Eheh. If you don't mind me asking, uhum," Joker chuckled, then poked the burly chest,"what list?"

Some small guy down the way - Joker was reeling as the very look of his stench - scoffed and stabbed his food so hard Joker was shocked the plastic didn't snap.

"The _list_ , man," he whispered, and everyone leaned in. "Come on, we all got 'em. People who wronged us. People who deserve to pay."

"Yeah. And I'm getting the Bat."

Joker narrowed his eyes. He never had his own list. Killing for a hit was never quite his style. Tried it once, and decided never again. The only people he had ever considered on it were Bats and Harley, but she was pointless, and he was...

He was Bruce.

"-ve to get strung up on a pole once more, I swear- That bastard is going down."

"Same here, man. Hate that guy."

Joker's shoulders went rigid under the hand clapped onto his shoulder. Without thinking much about it he grinned up at the guy, but they didn't seem to take it as anything. 

"Not if I get to him first," they boasted, and made what Joker assumed was a replication of his smile. "This guy right here will rule Gotham after the Bat is gone, too, I swear my life on it."

"Careful there, sweetcheeks," Joker interrupted. All eyes fell on him. "Never swear on something as big as that. Might lose your bet."

After a short stretch of silence, Joker was shocked to see the guy start laughing. He shoved Joker playfully, too off his rocker to see the threat, and started the rest of them with it.

Annoyance prickled at Joker. He raised an eyebrow in ready to make his announcement, but, with his luck, it was the split one, and if it didn't sting like a motherfu-

"Oh, please," a familiar voice piped up, successfully cutting in on Joker's internal monologue. "You really think Joker needs you fuck ups to help him? Just shut up before you embarrass yourself more."

Joker looked up through squinted eyes to see Vincent taking a seat on the other side of him. He rolled his eyes and tipped his head forward to his chest so no one could see the frustrated smirk. The only realism behind it was the slight amusement from the half insult.

For whatever reason, the thug took that as a reason to stand and tower over both of them. He pointed to Vincent. "Oh yeah, smart ass? And what do you think you are? His right handed man?"

Joker's grin fell to a sneer. The picture of taking his plastic knife and drilling it into the guy's eyeball was his only saving grace.

"Fluent in the English language, for one," Vincent answered with a smooth smirk.

Joker snorted, and reached for the knife. It wasn't like he was going to do anything with it. Bruce would do a lot more damage than the guards if he did.

The guards, being amused with the the mockery, tried nothing to stop the scene. Joker couldn't tell if he would rather put them down, or the two next to him. 

It would be so satisfying to watch it happen. To stand up and break with a cackle then lodge the utensil deep into the socket. With enough force maybe it would even pop out. Perhaps the blood would add a little extra flavour to Joker's oatmeal mush, but he didn't think even a miracle like that could happen.

A plate flew over Joker's head while Vincent blocked a punch from the big guy. Everyone was smacking the table in cheers for each person.

Joker closed his eyes and inhaled a soft puff of air, then let another expand his lungs. He held it there. The headache already eating at Joker would hate him for it later, but the grounding affect was worth it for the time being.

He pictured what Bruce would be doing right now. Probably sitting and working at the dining table, chewing on his inner cheek in that way he did when he was thinking. Then he would get up to pace back and forth while he tried to connect the dots. 

If they were both there, Bruce would end up throwing a pen across the floor when he got frustrated, then proceed to snap when it made Joker laugh.

That was exactly the reason he couldn't use the knife. Joker could deal with every harrowing blow that the Batman gave him. Hell, he would even take it with a bubbling giggle and a painted smile. 

The thought of losing those moments with Bruce, the ones where they just sat and ate and chuckled over a loss at Chutes and Ladders hurt more than any broken rib ever would. 

In a way he felt sick thinking about the implications of that, but Joker could ignore that. 

He slumped. His head was killing him from the yelling and oxygen deprivation, as expected. Apparently the kid had been tossed to the floor and was attempting to calm down the thug while still being hooked to the table. Joker blinked between them.

A full on fight would break out if it weren't for the hand cuffs. By the looks of it the big guy was about ready to snap them off of the table for that purpose. Judging by how the others were acting, if he did it, then so would they. Which would inevitably lead to more yelling, and therefore a killer migraine. 

Joker popped his lips. He recalled the whole reminder song, hummed, then tilted his head. Bruce had never said anything about ending violence. If anything, Bruce would approve of that. Fighting fire with fire might not have been the greatest solution, but it was Joker's favorite response thus far. 

He bit his tongue while he worked, then humphed in satisfaction when the cuffs fell off of his wrists. He took the metal tray and wiped off the food, smiled into his reflection, then stood.

"As flattering as it is to have two- er," he looked to the big guy, then Vincent, and reiterated," _one_ handsome young man fighting for my attention, I already have one."

The big guy paused to look at Joker. "Huh?" he asked, dumbstruck." 

Vincent rolled his eyes out of Joker's peripheral. He smirked, but continued on as if he had never seen it. 

"Oh, please! You know him! Pointy ears, swooshy cape, big, usually looks and _sounds like this,_ " Joker rasped with a frown.

When no one said a word he scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. Then, in a swift motion, Joker twisted and smacked the big guy head on with the tray. 

It worked as hoped. The man groaned and closed his eyes against the wave of dizziness that definitely came right after. 

Joker took the guy's disorientation as an opportunity to kick in his knee, then hit him again right to the floor. For extra measures he would later chalk up to as prolonged self defense, Joker lept up and jumped his full body weight right onto the guy's ribcage. There was an audible crack, a snort, and a hiss from the viewing criminals.

Joker didn't think before sending a foot flying towards Vincent's face. The kid fell back with a groan, covering his face with his hand, and blood trickling through his fingers. Joker made for a small giggle. 

"Oopsie," he sniggered, and dropped the tray. "Sorry, kid. Got a little excited there."

Vincent wiped his nose, grimaced, then shrugged. "Nah, it's cool, I get it. It's not broken."

Joker started to respond but noticed the guards running towards him, so his cheeks puffed out and furrowed his brow. Damn. They were actually doing their job now that they were reveling in Joker's misfortune. 

Winking down at Vincent, Joker put his hands over his head. They were immediately grabbed and forced down to restrain. 

"Oo," he gasped, and chuckled over his shoulder. "Not so tight, officer. I'm sensitive."

He snickered at the uncomfortable look on their face. Then he caught a glance at their eyes, green like his, but not as bright,and his mind went swirling back to the previous night. 

Silver hair and dark eyes. 

It wasn't the same person, Joker could tell. The color was all wrong, and the lines around them didn't match. They didn't look quite sorrowful enough. Like they hadn't seen enough to get there yet - fresh meat. 

"You too, Richards. Get up."

Richards? Joker fumbled to look back while he was pushed back forward in time to see a guard lifting Vincent up. They made eye contact before Joker was practically kicked into the hallway. 

He stumbled and tried to laugh, but it got stuck in his throat. He cleared his head by blinking harshly, but the thoughts never left completely. 

Vincent Richards. Joker made a mental catalogue to not forget that. He had a feeling it would come in handy for his research.

"Make sure he's locked up right," ordered someone next to him. "No prisoner contact for the next few days."

Joker recognised the voice. His ears practically perked at it, and his head tilted like an excited puppy. 

When he looked over he found the same man who had choked him out with a smug expression. It faltered when Joker returned it with a hint of poison in his grin.

"Back for round two, hot stuff?" he teased, sniggering. 

The guard looked about ready to snap Joker's neck at that time, and for a second he might have gone for it, but they reached his cell before anything could happen. Joker had to say, he was a little disappointed. He almost wanted to see how that would have played out.

He was shoved to the floor. Joker slid around to glare up at the guy one last time, twitching, then was left in silence. He sighed. 

It worked anyhow, being locked in his cell for a while. The guards would leave him alone with the time to look over the files in peace. Joker would liked to have said that he planned it like that.

One would think after a hundred times of looking through the files that Joker would have memorized them. However, he had a short attention span, and no real interest in looking for any clues unrelated to Mabel or Avery anyhow. It was more Bruce's thing anyhow. 

Last night he had been too zonked out to pay attention to what he had been doing. It was like going through a family album, and happening to stumble across something good. 

Joker could only recall those two details, minimal as they were, but there was a reason why he had taken it to heart. If he could find the photo he could piece some of it together, he was sure of it.

It was important. He knew it was important, he could feel it in his bones. That actually could have been from the beating. Joker's lips puckered, then he shook his head. 

Either way, he knew that this random dude was important.

This must have been what Bruce felt when he got further in a case. Joker's shoulders shook with a few giggles. He was beginning to understand why Bruce did what he did as the great bat detective. It was exhilarating. 

The log books and personnel files fell open at Joker's feet once again. He puffed out his cheeks back and forth while he worked through them, and with each failed page his eyebrows pulled closer together.

He must have found at least ten photos of silver haired workers in just this section of Arkham, and not a single one struck a chord with who he was looking for. There were moments. Some had been close. Every time there was just a pinch of something wrong. 

This guy had an intensity to his stare that Joker couldn't shake. It was near undescribable. He had the strangest feeling that he had been on the receiving end before. Maybe that was why he was so hooked on finding it. 

Joker's fingertips tapped the cold cement. He wriggled in his spot on the ground and sucked in his bottom lip for some sort of entertainment. Hours went by of this in different variations of sitting.

He had his legs on top of the bed and the notes held over his face when he heard the shuffling outside. Joker scrambled to put a bookmark in the right place and shove everything behind him in time for the door to open.

"It's rude not to knock," he commented with a smile when it slid open.

Joker tilted his head back to see who was standing there. First he saw the shoes, a matte red, then followed up with black pants and up to the coat. At last he saw the unhappy face of Avery glaring down at him. He sniggered at the upside down expression. 

"Well that doesn't look like good news," he continued, and rolled over to look up. Joker's eyes widened, and he stood. His eyes widened, tears already forming, and his mouth fell open. "Oh, God. Don't tell me- Is it terminal?"

Avery looked even more upset, if that were even possible. He had just enough self control left not to burst out laughing in her face.

"This has gotten out of hand, Joker," she commented. "Three outbursts in two days is a serious problem."

Joker's pulse skyrocketed and dipped back down so fast he was shocked he hadn't even gotten dizzy. With the way she was starting this he was almost hoping something was terminal.

"I only recall two, actually," he heard himself say.

Avery circled the table with a look in her eyes that meant trouble. Joker met it with what he hoped was his own form of intimidation, but doubted it. 

"Last night," she said,"you attacked the guards."

The empty expression he had must have disoriented her if the shock wave were anything to tell by. Joker blinked slowly, as if trying to comprehend what had been said. Then, evaluating, he sucked in a sharp breath that released as a chuckle. 

"I think you got your info from the wrong grapevine," he teased, but it wasn't lighthearted in the slightest.

Avery huffed and sat down at the table. She offered up a seat that Joker refused with a glare. It was his room. If anyone should be offering a seat it should be him.

"Something needs to be changed. We can't have you hurting others anymore, or stronger measures are going to be put in place."

Joker's fingers compulsively squeezed shut, and a strained laugh vibrated his chest. He tilted his head. 

This couldn't be good.

"You obviously have something in mind," he started, and put on a malicious smile. "What is it, doc? Shock therapy? Waterboarding?"

Avery pondered this, but Joker could see through the act. His eye twitched, and she caught it, but said nothing. They each shifted. 

"This is for your health, and the safety of others, Joker. Arkham deeply cares about its patients," she reminded in a stern voice.

Joker snorted, creating a genuine question on Avery, but he waved her off, explaining, "Inside joke."

Avery narrowed her gaze, but moved on. She sighed in that heavy way doctors did when bad news was coming. She tilted her head with the audacity to look guilty. Joker swore he should have torn it off. 

"I've seen a correlation in your spikes," she started in a solemn tone he very much did not like. 

Joker thought back to every story where the narrator described the feeling of their heart dropping, and thought that he finally understood what they meant.

"I'm already on the edge of my seat."

There was also something stuck in Joker's throat that lodged in his chest. He was half surprised he had been able to sound so steady getting the words out. 

He was no idiot. Joker had known what was coming the moment she had started with _correlation_ , but that didn't make the anticipation any better, nor did it get rid of the heavyset ache settling in him. 

Avery stood and walked over to where he was stood. She clasped her hands in front of her, and bowed her head. 

"I think it's best if you're not to see the Batman anymore."

He remained silent, to her astonishment. Joker smiled still, unrelenting in his viciously upbeat mood towards the situation despite the taste of blood burning the back of his throat.

"I..." she continued, then paused to wait for a response that didn't come. "I have already talked with the warden about this decision, and the guards have been informed. Batman will no longer be permitted visitation rights to your cell."

That was great. On some level Joker knew that if the Bat wanted to do something as simple as visiting him that he would find a way. Even with that knowledge it was like a weight dropping.

Joker leaned back on the wall, then slid down to sit on the cot, and tilted his chin up. His cheeks rose in a soft smile.

"Are you understanding what I am saying?" Avery prodded in a way that voiced how unnerved she was about his reaction. 

Joker narrowed an eye to think. Then, he nodded, and crossed his legs. "Loud and clear."

Avery apparently wasn't buying it. Her nostrils flared, and she readjusted her position to what Joker assumed was supposed to act as intimidation. 

"Then you comprehend that you will not be seeing the Batman again for the formidable future."

"Comprendo." 

"There will be no discussing him," she stated.

"Yessum."

"Your plushies, newspapers and anything he has given to you will be taken away."

"Aye aye, cap'm!" Joker exclaimed, and saluted with a serious face.

Avery, on edge but out of ideas, grumbled her resent. "So we have an understanding?"

Joker hummed his affirmation and stuck out a hand to shake. Silently he hoped she didn't notice its trembling. Avery didn't so much as look at it, to Joker's favour, so he shook it with his other hand.

"Well, doc," he sighed, and slapped his thighs. "I don't know if you heard, but I'm not actually supposed to be seeing anyone today. We're kind of breaking the rules right now. Whoops."

He cringed, then rubbed his hands together. Avery didn't move an inch from her spot, but her expression became deeper in thought. Joker nearly exploded when considering that she might not leave him alone just yet.

"He's right," the guard standing post spoke up. Joker let out an imperceivable breath. For once he was glad the assholes were so intrusive.

Avery didn't share his sentiment. She looked over her shoulder to glower. "Then why isn't he in solitary confinement?"

The guard fiddled with their baton as their eyes flicked over to Joker, then away again, grimacing. "He has a record of...breaking out... when he's there," they admitted feebly. 

Avery stilled. "Ah."

Joker grinned up at her sweetly as she attempted to keep her calm. He was doing much the same, if he were to admit it, but no one appeared to tell that.

"I see," she ended with a in dying off.

He stood up in a beat to tower over her. It was the closest they had ever been. Joker had to chuckle at just how small she looked compared to him. Avery appeared to recognise this as well, for she stepped back a few paces. Joker smirked. 

"Well, you better go!" he told her. "Ol' Brad is getting pissy waiting up."

Brad looked about ready to piss his pants hearing his name from the Joker's mouth. He couldn't help a snort. 

Though hesitant, Avery took to leave. She stopped in the doorway with her hand on the frame, and her eyes just visible looking back. 

Joker found himself to be suddenly frozen. He swallowed against the force keeping him from taking a decent breath, but it only served to prove how dry his throat was.

Avery's shoulders rose and fell, and her lips parted. "Remember this chat later," she said. Her tone became cold when she finished,"I wouldn't want you breaking our agreement."

Joker shuddered when the door fell shut. 

\----

[DAY 11 - WEEK TWO - 3:09 AM]

It was, to Joker's luck, a Thursday night.

Wednesdays were the day Arkham got their newspapers dropped off. It was last on the dropoff listing for the carriers, so it took all day for them to get there on Wednesday.

The employees were given the papers. A few of the nicer patients were given them during their recreational time, but they were on the good side of Arkham; the side that wasn't filled to the brim with ruthless killers.

It was rare, but it wasn't unheard of for those on Joker's side to get a paper. Oswald, Freeze, and Crane were always given one, but Joker had a feeling that bribery had something to do with Cobblepot. Crane was a sweetheart to his fellow doctors when he wanted to be, so that was no surprise, and Fries never acted out. 

Joker didn't get one. He did once, when Harley was his therapist, but that clearly didn't last for too long.

The size of Arkham accounted for two seperate days of the week where the trash had to be removed, and Thursday happened to be one of them. Joker was, though he loathed to admit it, aware of this fact due to one of his less elaborate escapes.

The importance of these two details to anyone else would be nothing at all. After all, who needed to know about the going ons of Arkham's garbage disposal, and the day that the mail arrived?

The answer to the question was simple: it was the night that Joker was able to get the news. The tossed away papers of the week were raided through until a good one was found and given directly to him.

Joker liked to keep up on what was happening outside. With how everything was going it was important to keep up on the life of his favorite Gothamite. If something were to happen to Bruce while he was caged up then he would like to be aware. The case depended on it.

If it had anything to do with Joker being worried, he refused to acknowledge it.

So, every Thursday night around three, Joker stayed up for all of the week's news to come through his slot. 

As to why Joker was so anxious for it to come that particular Thursday related specifically to the happenings of the previous day. 

Joker's leg jumped up and down. He tried to settle it, but the attempts only made to make the other one want to start up. He groaned and smashed his head back against the wall. 

He had distracted himself the whole day with going over every single account book and file he had gathered over the last week, pouring everything into it, and came to no other conclusion than he understood why it helped Bruce. 

It was easy to forget when focusing on work. If Joker hadn't had that he would have been thinking about this one moment for the whole day. It would have eaten him away right up until he broke something.

Or, more specifically, someone.

The correlation between the newspaper arrival and Joker was much alike to that of the Wednesday employee papers and the Thursday garbage disposal, but for a different reason.

When Joker got his newspaper he not only got to see what was happening in Bruce's life, but he also got a visit from Harley and Ivy's inside man. 

After some convincing, Joker had been able to get the janitor to deliver his papers instead of his groupies. Joker had told the guy that if he ever needed to get in contact with the girls for any reason he would need easy access instead of running around after hours to find him. In the end it had worked.

It was finally that day. As much as Joker loved to run around in his guard costume with the key card - which he had done several times at that point, and enjoyed thoroughly at each one - it was too dangerous to go out with all eyes on him that day.

Joker sprang up when he heard the slot slide open. He almost tripped over the table in his rush, but managed to survive it to get over in time.

"Wait a second," he rasped, earning him an agitated sigh. At least Joker knew he had stopped.

"What more do you want from me, clown?" the janitor hissed out in confirmation.

Joker had half a mind to snap at him for a comment like that, but was in too much of a hurry to try anything. He didn't need to get on the old man's far bad side. 

He was always on his regular bad side.

"I need you to do something for me," Joker whispered, and reached out when the old guy turned away. "Wait, wait, it's just One favour, I swear-"

"I've already done one something for you," he spat. " _Twice._ "

Joker paused to giggle through the awkward bout of his response, thinking that over, then mumbled.

"Okay, fine, yes, but this is important."

"So what? That's what you said about the others too."

This time resorting to gritting his teeth, Joker grinned. "I know. But this has to do with the girls. Directly."

The janitor stalled at this. His loyalty was unfaltering. Whoever he had a thing for was obviously was not wavered by anything. Joker had to respect that.

"How's that?" he asked.

Joker smiled and dug in his pocket. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to the old guy. It started being unfolded, but Joker shot out and grabbed the weak wrist before it could be done. Their gazes met through the dark.

"This is for their eyes only," Joker confirmed grimly.

The threat was not unnoticed. The janitor gruffed about it while thinking it over, but seemed to weigh it out to Joker's advantage. The letter was slid into his pocket.

"Fine," the janitor agreed. "But that's it. I'm done. I'm not doing shit for you after this."

Joker raised his hands up in a placating gesture, and chuckled. "Deliver that and I won't ask for anything else. Scout's honour."

The old janitor nodded and humphed. He shoved the remaining news into the slot. He eyed Joker for a second, who smiled, then scowled and shut it again.

Joker didn't have the energy to be offended by that. His shoulders rolled with his back, then leaned onto the door with his arms swinging. The papers crinkled under his feet.

At least he knew that Harley and Ivy would get the message. It was up to them what happened after that, he supposed.

He was screwed if they didn't do what was asked of them.

Joker slithered down onto the floor and grabbed lazily at the papers. The invading thoughts of what would happen if they didn't follow through was getting to Joker, so he decided to jump back in to mindless indulgence.

He had to squint to see what the paper said with only a sliver of light to read with. He flipped it around a few times to find the funnies, but kept getting lost. He grumbled.

Finally setting on one page, Joker paused. His throat immediately closed up when it came into focus. 

Stated on the front cover was an image of Bruce. Well, Joker wouldn't call it Bruce. It was an image of Wayne with that charming playboy smile the citizens seemed to love so much. Personally it made Joker's skin crawl. Sometimes he wondered if Dent was the real two face around Gotham after seeing it.

The headline read about a lawsuit on Wayne Enterprises. It was something about the Cunningham family and wanting payback for the murder of Albert. The blame was back on Bruce, he scowled, and crinkled it shut in his anger. 

The girls had best come through on their end.


	24. The Funeral

Despite getting over nine hours of sleep, Bruce felt more than exhausted.

He had slept through the night and over into the afternoon of the eighteenth. It was nice, if he were to let himself admit that. The inconsistent tossing and turning that woke him up every few hours was a damper, but he had slept, and that was an achievement in itself.

He hadn't wanted to get out of bed afterwards. As much as under sleeping was a problem, over sleeping only managed to cause Bruce's body to want to shut down completely. His bones cracked and his joints popped in protest of his every movement. All he wanted to do was climb back in and not get up until he was properly rested.

He had woken up to drink two pots of coffee in one go in order to get a move on. Alfred had scolded him on proper health when it came to consuming so much caffeine. It was strangely domestic, all robberies, murders, drug rings and clowns aside.

The rest of the day and night had been spent searching in to the location of the second caller, and as to where Bruce could get more information on TPN. Multiple tests were run, IDs crossed off and lists were made.

Alfred remained out of the loop. Bruce's stomach knotted thinking about it - about lying to Alfred so bold faced and out there. If Alfred knew he would most likely be getting his ass beaten - not literally, but it still fit - about 'keeping secrets from those you care about.'

Bruce didn't need him getting hurt. A white lie couldn't hurt once and a while. Besides, Alfred knew about the robberies just as much as anyone else in Gotham did. He wasn't completely out of it. He was simply standing in the middle with the lights off. 

Joker would have laughed at that, at the very least.

After a pot of coffee in an hour and a second within the next two, Bruce had gained enough caffeine induced energy to barrel through the day and most of the night without so much as a second to sit down.

It had proven to do well. He hadn't stopped to think about the funeral or Joker once in all of that time, and those were his main distractions as of yet, so he had gotten quite a lot done.

The analysis of the powder for TPN did not come up with anything special. Like most drugs, it had an element to it that struck a high, and, from the looks of it, a fairly good one. Those guys he has gotten it from weren't kidding. The intoxication levels were through the roof.

There was still the liquid form to see. It would take longer since Bruce couldn't put it into anything without a clue of how the substance reacts to different elements, so he would have to experiment later on. It was definitely a lead to go off of, and that was better than nothing.

The next detail he had taken to was reports. Bruce logged in to the GCPD's and all of Gotham's biggest hospitals for reports of addicts or otherwise who had shown up with some sort of substance in their systems. Having not expected much, seeing over twenty known cases was somewhat of a shocker.

According to the medical files, no doctor or local scientist had yet to determine what it was by bloodstream or otherwise. Other than news articles, no data had been released to the public, so Bruce couldn't look into those. Either way, it didn't seem to matter. From what it was saying there wasn't even a trace of anything in the first place.

As for the robberies, Bruce had gone into a deep dive of searching for possible locations where the second caller could have been.

The jewellers' number goes out to anywhere, just as most phones do, so Bruce avoided using the ID itself as a tracker. It all boiled down to two main ideas: burners and backup.

The call itself had been one for help. After the supposed accident of the manager, the killer panicked and called out, which meant that they were asking for immediate assistance. If that was the case then the second caller had to have been nearby, or else there would be no point in the backup at all.

Then there was the burner. Criminals of the intelligence that these people were working at had enough reason to be using some form of communication other than every day phones. This had to mean that they had to have used some type of burner.

Evidence suggested that the backup was to get there fast, so they hadn't settled down anywhere like a hotel room. It was either a vehicle, or a close stranger.

Bruce had used this to tap into the roadside cameras for the closest two blocks. He had immediately crossed off a few people who had been on a call before or after the time that the original happened. All he had to do was watch and wait.

It was unlucky timing for the caffeine to cause a dip right then. Bruce remembered sitting down and being ready to watch all of the clips - it had been around three in the morning, he thinks - when it all went fuzzy.

Bruce woke up with his face plastered to the desktop and a blanket over his shoulders the next morning. He groaned and tried to sit up, but the stiffness in his neck proved it more difficult than expected.

He hiked his shoulders up so he was capable of massaging the tensed areas. He pushed away from the desk, spinny chair rolling back, then stopped himself on the next table over. Without opening his eyes he brought up a map of Gotham where he had marked his main suspect locations.

"What time is it," he rasped, and coughed against the hoarseness. 

"Eleven thirty, Master Bruce," answered Alfred at the same time as the computer. "You have a funeral to get to."

Bruce turned over to look at Alfred. When had he- Never mind. 

"What time is it at?"

"It starts at 1:00, sir."

Placing his head in his hands, Bruce raked his fingers through his hair and forced down an irritated groan. He still had to take a shower and drive down there in a regular slow car, and through real traffic.

He peeked up through his fingers to Alfred. Bruce's expression dropped with his hands. "What's with the smirk?"

Alfred's smugness radiated all the way around the bat cave in an air that only he could create. It grew when Bruce pointed it out. 

"Nothing at all, sir," he informed while cleaning up the array of mugs and paperwork. "Happy to see that you've gotten some rest, is all."

Bruce scoffed and rubbed his cheek where it had been on the table. "If that's what you'd like to call it."

Alfred hummed. He balanced the mugs in his arms while he stalked around. Bruce felt the urge to help, but didn't go out of his way to ask.

"Not a good night, sir?" Alfred asked.

Images of ice resurfaced to Bruce's memories. Trapped, and freezing without the safety of his armour to save him.

Three people fell through. Bodies, eyes dark but somehow still watching him - _judging_ him - floated down into the black pit of the water below.

Bruce looked away from Alfred with a hum to show his acknowledgement. His fingers tapped on the map's surface. The mirage glimmered in the motion.

He had been having recurring dreams like this one for a while. It seemed that every time he allowed himself deep enough of a rest that it returned in even bigger and bolder strokes.

Knees hit the surface above Bruce to reveal the Joker staring at him. A figure with a blurred face stepped up and tugged his head back by the hair so a knife was sheathed against Joker's lean neck. 

Bruce gurgled something out that filled his lungs with ice, but that didn't deter him from the extra effort to escape. He could see Joker laughing without hearing it even as the knife made a line across his throat.

Jaw cracking, Bruce admitted, "Something like that."

They always ended the same. Joker's blood on him in one way or another. This time was Bruce's personal favorite. He watched as Joker's body fell over and bled out directly on top of where he was trapped. Not a drop touched him through the surface, though it stained the crystal white sheen to crimson in long, streaming sections.

Up until Bruce finally tore his eyes away from that lifeless form, he thought he would get away without having killed the clown. It was always his fault in these dreams, in the end. 

Then he found that he was no longer in the ice, but rather standing in the place of the blurred figure, and watching himself struggle while Joker bled out by his hands 

It was quite the intrigue this time around. Bruce almost didn't want to wake up from where the story had been going.

He couldn't shake the increasing amounts of panic that happened in each one, however. Every scenario led to Bruce somehow being in a position without power while Joker was left stranded for death, and Bruce was nonetheless wiser to stop it.

How fascinating it was to know that it was always supposed to end like that. Joker was to push Batman right up to a cliff and let Bruce do the rest, taking the Joker's life into his own hands and putting it all to an stop.

Joker could always kill Bruce as well, he supposed. Any fatal blow and he would be down for the count, and especially this far into the game. Joker knew every weak point of the suit. Well aimed he could land any shot he wanted to.

They both knew that wasn't going to happen. As much as Joker teased, mocked and joked about it, it was a well known fact that the clown would never be the one to do Bruce in. Not on purpose, that was.

Over a decade - two, if Bruce was calculating it all - they had been doing this. As much as he tried to convince himself and others, he knew, deep inside of him, how it would end. He had accepted it.

It was almost poetic finding out now that he no longer did. 

Bruce glanced over his shoulder to the still unopened box of Kisses and image of them next to the computer. His stomach knotted.

"You should get ready, sir," he heard Alfred suggest.

He turned to him to see Alfred's eye line pointed in that same direction. When Bruce went to explain himself Alfred only raised a hand.

"Go," he said, and scoffed in secretive way that Bruce didn't quite understand.

Without questioning it, Bruce stood and went for the washroom before being turned towards the manor by Alfred. He glared when a towel smacked his shoulder, but it held no grudge. Alfred's amusement came through in his chuckle.

Bruce took far too long in the shower than he should have. He would not deny it. He tended to spend more time than needed getting ready for events he did not want to attend.

Most people assumed that being 'fashionably late' was a part of the Wayne persona, but truly it was Bruce being a procrastinator. For someone who relied heavily on getting the work done, he did not do well with the Wayne side of the job. 

Alfred had stopped to tighten his tie on the way out, and it was already irritating him. When Bruce came to a slow in the line leading up to the light he eyed himself in the overhead mirror.

It was already five minutes passed the beginning of the funeral. Part of that had to do with traffic even though he really had tried to make time for that.

His hair was slicked back perfectly with gel functioned to hide the scraggly length it had gotten to as of recently. Dressed in all black in perfect form for a funeral, Bruce didn't feel all too out of his element. He still felt bare. There was just something about being in a plain tux that made Bruce tense.

Someone behind him honked, so Bruce pushed forward some. It was slow, but eventually it broke open enough for Bruce to speed through. He got a few angry shouts, but he ignored them all.

The church it was held in was packed. All sorts of cars were gathered around the area - some of which were news vans. 

Bruce slunk down in his seat as not to be seen as he pulled in to the lot. When he parked in the back in one of the only remaining slots left he had to slide out with a particular measure of precision he only ever used in stealth cases.

The car door was clicked shut in his wake. Bruce knelt down behind it and out of sight from any reporters, then closed his eyes to breathe.

This was a funeral. These people who knew Albert - his family and friends and work buddies - they were all here to mourn the passing of someone they _loved,_ and the press was here to take all of it in.

Bruce remembers crying. Hot, and wet, and unable to breathe while his whole body shook uncontrollably. A child, unable to stand the crushing feeling of a loss such as this one. Steady hands of Alfred trembled on his shoulders as he did all he could to calm Bruce down.

Then came a reporter directly up to Bruce to ask what is was like to watch his parents get shot; ask how he felt about the fact that he would never see them again. Bruce could barely even see them through the blur of tears and the dizziness coming from hyperventilation. 

He doesn't remember how the guy left. He only recalls the warm pressure of Alfred's hand on his back then circling Bruce in his arms; the sight of curious people coming to watch the scene; the whispers of common gossip as he exited hand in hand with Alfred.

It was unfair. Hundreds of people had attended to bury Thomas and Martha Wayne, hundreds of people who never even knew them, and none of them could have cared less about the little boy and his butler who were standing right up front.

Before he knew what he was doing, Bruce was up and over to the news car. It was only one so far, thankfully, but it was enough to get him riled up. 

They startled when they noticed him approaching. All of them got their cameras ready, but Bruce was already there and shoving it back into their faces.

"Leave," he demanded in a voice that sounded far too much like Batman for Bruce's comfort. He cleared his throat. Each of them eyed eachother. 

"This is an open church, Wayne," the caster spoke. "With all due respect, we have every right-"

"Every right?" Bruce spat, and practically snarled at her. "Have you ever had someone you love die?"

Bruce met her expression with one of hard defiance. She stuttered in a way that answered his question, so he smiled, and stepped towards her.

"With all due respect, _Clarice_ ," Bruce repeated with a harsh bite,"I have. And let me tell you, it is something I will never get over."

This seemed to shut them all up. A look of quiet guilt flashed over each one's face, and their eyes flicked away from Bruce's. 

"We didn't mean to disturb them, Mr. Wayne," started one of the camera crew, but Bruce's venomous laugh cut them off.

"Then what did you come here for?" Bruce pushed with an almost sad smile. "To give your condolences?"

At least they had enough decency to appear ashamed of themselves. The caster sighed and shook herself in order to look Bruce in the eye.

"Look, Wayne," she began boldly. "This case was assigned to us. We can't drop it. Surely even you can understand that."

Bruce clicked his tongue, and crossed his arms. He did, in a way. Deadlines were important. It didn't matter. 

She nlinked, and pushed up a smile. His silence gave her the wrong idea. It seemed to have given her more confidence to proceed. Bruce frowned.

"Our team has been trailing this case and the family for the last two months. This is our big break, and the funeral is a prime time-"

"You've been following the family?" Bruce interrupted, feeling far more disgusted than he had truly felt in a long time.

They didn't respond. It was answer enough. Rage unfurled in Bruce, and it took everything he had not to pin one of them to the door and demand them to apologise. Or to break their hands.

Practically shaking, he settled for saying, "You people can't give this family a god damn _second_ to grieve. Their loved one is dead. You can't possibly comprehend what that feels like. There are _kids_ -"

Bruce trailed off on that, seeing all of their eyes widen in plain shock. He forced himself to inhale. When it let out his shoulders seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. He met all of their guilt ridden expressions with one filled with something akin to disdain. 

"The Cunninghams have been through enough," he finished, his voice dropping to a heavy lull. "Turn around, and don't come back."

Clarice appeared as though she were going to defy him again, so Bruce turned on her with a wild intent to his gaze. 

"If I see your faces here again," he bellowed directly to her,"be prepared for a lawsuit."

They didn't do anything but look at eachother for a second. Clarice looked like she was about ready to run but her legs couldn't quite move. Bruce had seen it many times on the thugs he interrogated. 

He could only hope that they didn't know anything about law. Bruce had no clue if he had any grounds to sue on.

A fresh wave of relief washed over Bruce when the crew started to pack up. One of them glanced his way, but turned before saying anything.

Bruce dipped his head as he walked back towards the church's front doors. He stopped to make sure the car was pulling out before going in, but froze shortly after. 

"Mr. Wayne!" 

The vehicle hadn't made it all the way to the road yet, but Bruce's name was called again and he couldn't keep whoever they were waiting.

An older woman was walking towards him dressed head to toe in a beautiful black dress. She seemed familiar. When she approached him Bruce noticed the ring resting on her finger. His eyes widened.

"Mrs. Cunningham-" 

"Mr. Wayne-"

Both fumbled with a chuckle. Bruce held out his hand, and she shook it with a weak smile. It sent a shock through his heart.

"Good to meet you, sir," she said, and stepped back for an opening to the doors. "Though I wish it were under different circumstances."

Her voice wavered. Bruce did his best not to reflect her expression. This was business, he reminded himself. 

Still, Bruce took the invitation towards the church, but not without offering up his arm. She laughed a bit and held on to it while they trudged towards it.

"I feel the same. And, uh, It's Bruce," he offered up, feeling a pang of sadness when he opened up the entrance for her. "No need for formalities here."

"Sylvia, then," Mrs. Cunningham told Bruce.

Sylvia took Bruce's arm once more once inside. Just as expected, the whole place was buzzing with quiet chatter and shrouded in black. 

A few eyes fell on them. Some saw Bruce and filled with an anger and hurt that he knew all too well from experience. Others saw Sylvia and welled up once more. 

The gentle squeeze of fingers on him made Bruce look down at the small lady. She stared up as well with a tug towards a seperate area. For someone who was the most hurt her gaze held strong in a way that Bruce could never imagine. 

The noise of the mumbled chatter died into white noise as the got farther away from the group.

Feeling as though he should say something, Bruce started with,"I know I'm probably not your favorite person right now, but if there's anything I can do-"

"Oh, shush."

Bruce stopped dead in his tracks, therefore rendering Sylvia immobile as well. They were in a room all alone now. Her smile made her eyes sparkle while she chuckled. 

"I appreciate it, Bruce, I really do. But you have nothing to be sorry for, and nothing you can do. Unless you know of some magic goo that can bring back Albert, I am perfectly content."

Bruce was tempted to inform her of Ra's and the pit, but figured it would be best not to do something like that to her. 

It struck him as odd, then, that those words seemed to directly contradict his reason for being there. Bruce didn't have time to question this, however, for Sylvia was already explaining.

"I don't blame you for anything," she said with raised brows. "You seem like a caring man. And, besides, who cares what the press says? They're all a bunch of liars anyhow."

Bruce blinked. He breathed in, hummed, then mumbled,"So you don't think that I- That I'm the reason..."

"I don't believe you're a killer, Bruce. You had no reason," she finished for him. Wetness glazed over her eyes and words, but she continued on through the waver,"Albert is not dead because of you."

Bruce's throat closed up. He held out his hands - for what, he didn't know - but it felt like the right thing to do. Sylvia somehow understood it because she was holding on and gripping tighter than most of the villians he fought by night.

He didn't dare let go.

"Why sue me, then?" he tried to bring them back.

Sylvia sniffed. The topic change seemed to make her feel somewhat better. Bruce smiled some, and hoped it didn't look like pity. It most certainly was not.

"Well, you're a rich man. You don't have anything to lose over a simple lawsuit like this, and we need the money."

Sylvia looked down at her feet and chuckled. She shook her head, and a few hairs fell to frame her face. 

"I personally don't buy that. Makes it sound like we're a charity case just waiting to prey on the wealthy. Like we wanted this."

Bruce's brows pulled together, and he squeezed her hands as a reflex. She only took it as encouragement to continue. Her head lifted to smile up at him.

"It was my lawyers suggestion," she shrugged. "I wanted to deny it, but you know how they are. Very forceful, that type."

Bruce's thoughts momentarily strayed to how he had been forced to come here by his own lawyer, then to the very unstable image of Harvey Dent. He grimaced.

"I know what you mean," he joked back.

Sylvia hummed through a tiny smile. She folded Bruce's hands into her's. "I wanted to see you and to tell you that I don't hold anything against you. You shouldn't have to carry that around."

Bruce had to scoff, but soon realised his mistake when her grip loosened. He fixed it as quickly as he could manage with a smile.

"Thank you," he corrected himself. "But I shouldn't be the one having weight taken off of me. No one should have to go through what you are right now."

Again, Sylvia's eyes brightened with fresh tears. It didn't deter her smile and tilt of the head.

"I heard you out there, you know."

Confusion made Bruce croak. Sylvia lifted a finger to stop him, and it must have reminded him of someone because the next thing he knew his mouth was shut. 

"You got rid of those reporters. They've been following my every move ever since it happened. All I could think when I saw them pull in to this lot was _Please, God, not today._ "

Sylvia's gaze narrowed on him. Her lips pressed into a tight line that Bruce recognised as an attempt not to cry. His whole body went rigid with pure ache.

"No one else even tried," she chuckled though it lacked any humour. Her breath hitched, and she let go of Bruce to wipe her eyes. "God, I'm sorry."

Bruce shook his head. His own voice felt thick while he spoke. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

Laughing through a sob, Sylvia dropped her arms and gave him a wobbly smile. A gentle hand came to indicate over his chest, and the other went on her own.

"Thank you," she said. 

Bruce slumped, and crinkled his brow. "It was the right thing to do."

Sylvia only sniffed. "And yet no one else did it."

Every part of him dissolved into an exhausted, soft puddle that made Bruce almost nauseous from holding back his emotions. He mumbled some sort of disagreement that he only half meant, but was cut off by her hand finally splaying out over his chest. 

"You have a big heart, Bruce," Sylvia informed. He could feel her fingers shaking. "Don't go losing it."

Bruce's eyebrows pulled together with heavy admiration for the woman he had only just met. "I'm glad you think so."

She patted him. "Yes, well..." she trailed, then recollected herself. "Would you- er- would you like to take a walk with me?"

Bruce wavered at the question. He wanted to, in a way. No one should be alone at a funeral, and as many people that were there Bruce knew that those people were all as alone as Sylvia was. Besides, she was a nice person to talk to. His biggest obstacle was that he had work to get back to

To his luck someone else decided to respond first. 

"Aw. Well isn't that just the sweetest thing?"

If only it wasn't that person. 

On instant Bruce was standing tall. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled in a familiar sensation, and his expression hardened.

Sylvia didn't appear to notice. She only peaked around him with a confused sound.

"Bruce," the third party said. His back tensed. "We need to talk."

Bruce's lungs burned when he sucked in a breath. He placed a hand on Sylvia's shoulder to gain her attention, then asked,"Will you wait here for a moment?"

She nodded, though it was clear she had no idea as to why, then stepped back. Bruce took the agreement to turn around and face the other.

He knew the voice intimately, and had for a long time. Bruce had been able to pick it up on the first syllable.

Still, it was somewhat of a shock to actually see Selina standing there. 

Her arms crossed over her chest while she leaned onto the doorway. In proper fashion for their location she was dressed in all black, though that was no doubt just a coincidence.

"Hey," she greeted.

Bruce considered saying something back. With Sylvia still in the room he decided that most likely wasn't for the best. 

He walked out passed Selina instead. They met gazes on his way, but each turned seperate direction before it could be considered anything.

"My condolences," he heard Selina mutter. The clack of her heels was Bruce's only indication of her following him.

A scoff and the feeling of sharp hands on his arm made Bruce falter. Selina came into his view with a raised brow.

"Slow down, Bat," she whispered, chuckling in exactly the wrong way. "No need to rush."

Bruce bristled. He forced himself to relax, but the frayed nerves of being practically jumped by Catwoman in public was a bit difficult to just ignore. 

"How did you find me here?" he settled for. 

She gave him a look that clearly explained her amusement towards the question. He sighed, agreeing that it had been stupid, but at least he had said something that made a lick of sense.

Bruce shoved them both into the nearest empty room, and slammed the door shut. He frowned at her. No one appeared to have noticed, so that was a plus. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked. 

Selina chuckled and leaned back on the wall. "You're just as pushy as always. Can't we ever just talk?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed in on her, and Selina rolled her eyes. She kicked off to wander to the other side of the room, a finger trailing down the dusty shelves. It was only then that he noticed they were in a closet.

Great. Now there was going to be talk of scandals at the funeral. Bruce wanted to bash his skull in with the mop.

"You know that interrogation look doesn't work on me, right? Don't tell me you've completely blocked me out of your memories."

" _Cat._ "

Selina looked about ready to pounce on mention of the nickname. Instead, she dropped her hand and reached in her back pocket, though her eyes blazed at him.

Bruce positioned for a weapon of sorts. Selina stopped to cough out a disbelieving laugh. "Relax. It's just paper. Jumpy much?"

She pulled out the folded up note and waved it in the air for him to see. Bruce frowned and did as told, but not enough to be completely lax. He nodded to it.

"What does it have to do with you being here?" 

Offense and shock were all that Bruce could determine from Selina's face. She shook her head and put it back in her pocket.

"I'm not a messenger, Bat. I didn't have to come all the way here to give you this."

Her stance remained firm on the subject throughout the minute Bruce took contemplating if this was worth it. 

The note could just be a trick. She had no reason for it to be, but it was always a possibility. Knowing Harley and Ivy, they might have told Selina about their encounter and now she was coming to claw some sense into him. 

It could also be from Joker. 

"I'm aware," he answered, though resigned to admit it. "I only want to know why you're here."

Selina nodded. She licked her lips while she mulled that over. During that whole time she didn't make a single move. 

Bruce was getting antsy in wait. Still, he knew better than to make a dive for the letter, so he mirrored her choice to stay stoic.

It was only after a few minutes of standing in silence that he broke and said,"I'd appreciate if we did this some other time, Selina."

Selina perked up, and smiled. "Right! Yeah, of course," she agreed with so much sarcasm Bruce had to recoil.

"Where should we go, then? The manor? I'm sure Alfred would be thrilled about that. Oh, how about one of the siren's dens, or - oo, I like this one - we go out to chase some bad guys, and-"

"I get it," Bruce grumbled, and pushed back onto the wall. "Just talk, if that's what you're here for."

When Selina didn't respond he dipped his head and swallowed against the frustration building up. Bruce puffed out a breath.

Their - could he even call it that? It didn't quite fit, but it was the best he had - breakup had not been pleasant. Almost a year had gone by, but the memory stuck.

There were claw marks. A batarang or two was thrown. Someone might have jumped out of the manor after some harsh words that ultimately ended it. 

It wasn't like it had been all that unexpected. Their relationship had been bumpy for a while at that point. It was probably why it had ended in a fight. All of their pent up anger, and with the two of them being _them_ that was the only way either could have thought to finish it.

Bruce had seen Selina a total of twice since March. Both had involved some sort of crime. He never did anything about them.

"We can't keep ignoring eachother," she brought up suddenly; as if it wasn't obvious that that was her reason for being there. 

Her eyes flicked with that strange glow in the dim light of the roon. Somehow he had forgotten just how catlike she really was.

"What do you suggest, Selina? Friends?" Bruce grunted. "You and I both know that it's all or nothing between us."

Selina's hum sounded more like a purr when she circled around him. A long nail traced his shoulders, and her almost sickly sweet scent invaded Bruce's space. She shrugged. 

"I'm not saying that we go on lunch dates here."

Bruce swore that sometimes it was easier talking to the Joker than Selina. At least he spat out whatever was on his mind, even if it was just that he was craving strawberries. Bruce had to work to get Selina to talk.

To be fair, he had to work Joker sometimes too, but that tended to come down to either a gas bomb planted somewhere in Gotham or that he kept getting off topic. Bruce much preferred to latter. 

She spread out in Selina fashion to leap up onto a high shelf then take up all possible space. Once again she took out the note for Bruce to see. She played with it a bit like some sort of toy.

"Harley and Ivy are busy," she said. "The whole Jewish but still celebrating Christmas as a general thing always makes such a mess for decorating."

Selina rolled onto her side to face Bruce, and sighed. She bit her lip, and shook her head. 

"I don't want anything out of this. I just don't want bad blood, either."

The note was stretched out towards him. He didn't grab it yet. Her intention was for him to wait until after, and he knew it. Bruce held her steady gaze.

"Then what do you suggest?" he drawled out. 

Selina slid down with an elegance that Bruce could never understand and stalked towards him. Her body was fluid in a way that he would never be able to reach. No one else could either. It was all so Selina that it almost made Bruce miss her. 

Almost, he frowned. 

The note was held up between them; less than a foot apart. They never broke eye contact to look at it. Selina managed to tilt her head, and her expression went hard. 

"Why him?" 

Sickness lurched Bruce from his ramrod position. She knew about Jay. Of course she did, Harley and Ivy did, and it was no secret that they were all a gossip between them. 

He wasn't exactly paying attention to that part. Bruce was more focused on how the note was from Jay. Not only that, but he had sent it to Harley and Ivy, so he obviously hadn't been in a safe position to go to the cave. 

Bruce was about ready to keel over right then and there if it meant getting that note from Selina. The only problem was that he had no clue was to what his answer was, and there was no way she would hand it over without one. 

"What do you mean?" he deflected.

Selina humphed and stepped back with a narrow of the eyes. "Don't try to avoid it, Bat. You'll never get this if you do."

His shoulders fell. It had been an attempt. Going in to it had been a risk, but he at least tried. 

Bruce focused on the question. It seemed there would be no escaping it. It wasn't like he could lie his way out either. Selina was too good at that. 

There were three people in the world who knew Bruce. The first, and most obvious, was Alfred. He could call Bruce out on his bullshit before it even got out of Bruce's mouth. 

The second was Selina. If he was lying out of his ass without knowing it himself then she could call it out. That was why his default answer couldn't work. He wasn't even sure as to why that was. 

She had become quite the Bat detector over their time together. She knew Batman, and she knew Bruce. 

That was their problem, he supposed. Selina had never come to know who Bruce is as a whole. She only knew him separately. He honestly couldn't say he was any better for her. 

The third and last was Joker. However, Bruce wasn't fond of thinking about that all that often, so he tended to delve around that subject.

Why _him_ was the whole subject arounf that, then, wasn't it? Bruce didn't even know where to begin.

Joker was his greatest enemy for many reasons. Joker was dangerous, and unpredictable, and not stable enough to be trusted. That's what Bruce had convinced himself.

Except that was the same for all of the other criminals Bruce fought. Joker was a pond compared to the ocean of problems created by the others.

That wasn't the question though. Bruce felt it in the way that Selina drilled a hole into him with each passing second that he waited to answer. 

He couldn't quite comprehend what the question was. It was loaded with a million little shards of extra questions that Bruce had to tip toe around in order to reach the main one, and he had only made it half way so far.

Bruce licked his lips. Looking at Selina with all of the sincerity that he could get, he gulped.

"I don't know," he muttered. It was the truth, afterall. Then, feeling a bit sick to come to the conclusion, mumbled, "Did I ever have a choice?"

On what, he still wasn't certain.

Selina blinked, and her eyebrow pulled up. She looked Bruce up and down as though analysing his posture would confirm his words. It worked in the end. Her shoulders fell to one much more open, but clearly still not sure how to react.

"Right," she hummed out.

Relieved, Bruce fidgeted some while looking down at the paper. Selina picked up on it on instant, and rolled her eyes again. It was lifted up for his taking.

It was in his hands before Selina could even blink. Bruce paused to look at her before opening it. 

"Did you read it?" 

Selina placed her hands on her hips and shrugged. "Does it matter?"

No, not really, he thought. It still struck a chord in him to know that Selina had read a message to Bruce. Joker's message. He couldn't identify why - or, more precisely, didn't want to - but it continued to itch at him.

The small envelope was made out of newspaper and read _For Bats' Eyes Only_. Bruce allowed himself a small smirk when he noticed the badly drawn ice skates.

He could feel Selina watching him. Bruce did his best to ignore her as he strolled to the corner for more privacy. It read as such:

_'hey!!! this is important so make sure no ones peeking over your shoulder!!!!_

_oh, and if harley or that green bitch are reading this - kindly shove your tree up your asses <3 that goes for you too cat_

Bruce rolled his eyes to make a point that Joker would never see. It felt like the right thing to do anyhow. Joker had probably been anticipating the reaction while he wrote it.

Continuing on, Bruce's gaze landed on the words scribbled down away from the rest. He bit his cheek. Concern bubbled in on the very first word, and grew into a volcano with every sentence thereafter.

_they know we're together. the bat is no longer permitted visiting rights. doctor's orders, but I have a feeling it came from a higher up, if you know what im saying._

_im sure gordo will tell you soon but I wanted to tell you first since it's me you can't see and all._

_theyre watching me, babes. from what I can figure most of the guards on my block are in on it. theyre probably on you too. so watch your back for me alright? cant have my dark knight in shining armour getting killed now_

_seriously though. be careful, bruce._

_jay_

Selina tapped Bruce's shoulder to bring him out of his trance. It had been over a minute of him standing there and only staring at the paper. He practically leapt sky high when she pulled him away. 

Bruce side stepped to look at her with practised precision. Selina smiled at it, then swatted at his shoulder.

"It's not that bad," she sighed. "So you don't have to see the clown anymore. Who cares?"

Bruce chose not to answer. If he did he knew he would snap at her, and now was not the time to argue with the woman who could literally claw him apart.

Besides, he didn't owe her anything. Selina and him were over, and had been for a long time. Bruce grit his teeth and closed his eyes. 

"What are you here for, Selina?" he demanded. "What do you want out of this?"

Bruce took a step forward and Selina took a step back, but didn't appear otherwise affected by the onslaught. She raised her hands up to push him back, but must have thought otherwise, for they dropped instead.

"Would you believe that I just wanted to see you?" she tried.

Bruce's hardening expression was enough to make her sneer, then look away. She worried her lip in that way Bruce had come to know as Selina's 'trying to come up with something' face. It lit a fire in him he hadn't so much as felt a little in months.

Two months, to be exact.

"You can't go a minute without lying your ass out of a tough situation, can you?"

Selina's gaze shot up with that same blaze he used to find so empowering. Fear and anger mixed to come off as strength. 

There was no doubt in his mind that Selina could easily take down anyone she wanted. She was by far one of the most powerful people Bruce had ever met. 

She was also the most frightened. So incredibly afraid of being seen by anyone that she couldn't open up unless it was forced out of her.

Bruce had to laugh at the irony of it all. They had fit so well in the beginning. They were perfect. All laughter and relaxing and sweet taunts while swinging through Gotham's streets. 

If only they weren't closed off. If only they were more willing to let the other in completely. 

If only they weren't the same person wrapped under layers of trauma and all of that pain. 

It had been perfect, when they pretended to be someone they weren't. Back when they had been _Bat_ and _Cat_. 

"Oh, please. Like you're any better," Selina spat in proper order to their arguments - resorting to slashing back instead of letting it get to her. Instead of just talking like a normal person.

"Whenever times get tough you put yourself right back into your work and ignore the rest of the world. Do you even know what that does to the people around you? To Alfred?"

Bruce huffed, and shook his head. The Alfred comment had stung a little too close for him to appreciate. 

"I help people," he grumbled. 

"Sure," Selina agreed, and stepped back towards him. 

He did the opposite. Their game of power play over the other once again doing its magic. Bruce frowned.

"You help people. You're 'saving Gotham' and all that bullshit. But what about the people that love you? Yourself? Obviously you don't care."

Bruce's jaw tightened, and his voice dipped dangerously low when he asked,"What is that supposed to mean?"

Selina made a face that he guessed was supposed to represent how plain that was to see. Then her gaze landed on the letter, and Bruce felt like he was going to implode.

"Leave him out of this," he grumbled.

"Who, Bruce? The Joker?" 

Bruce glanced at the door with a grimace. It only egged Selina on. Her advance on him pushed with her harsh laugh.

"I can't even say his name without you being nervous someone will overhear," Selina said,"and you're _working_ with him."

"It's not what you think."

"No, it's exactly what I think," Selina purred. One of her nails rested over his clavicle, then rose up slowly to knick the bottom of his chin. "It's just not what you think it is."

Bruce didn't have time to ask what she meant by that. She grabbed his chin and looked him directly in the eye. There was a sadness there that Bruce had only seen in her a few times before. 

"I came here because I was worried about you," she whispered. It looked like it pained her to admit.

Bruce's lungs caught from the mere ache of hearing those words; of hearing such a truth come from her. Even if it was just to win an argument. 

"Selina..." he mumbled, but he wasn't sure where he was going with it. 

"You're right, Bat," she continued. 

Bruce's brows furrowed. Her hand splayed out over his cheek and just into his hair. Selina paused to contemplate the next part. She didn't appear all that sure of herself - something rare to see on the cat. It almost frightened Bruce to witness. 

At long last, Selina came to a conclusion. Her hand fell to the back of his neck, and she blinked.

"Some part of me had come here hoping we could fix things," she muttered into the half an inch left between them. "But this is all or nothing. And I can't do this to myself anymore."

Her eyes flicked back and forth between Bruce's. Before he knew what was happening a soft kiss was pressed to his lips, and Bruce was too shocked to stop it.

It was over in less time than it happened, and Selina was retreating to the front of the closet. She shook her head and nodded to the note crinkled in Bruce's palm.

"Don't get yourself hurt, Bruce," she warned.

The door popped open. Bruce stood in confusion while he watched her leave the room and disappear into the crowd. 

He had a feeling it would be a long time until he saw her again. A year ago Bruce would have chased after her and demanded she stay. In some cases it might have even worked. Hell, even four months ago he would have. 

She was right though. They couldn't keep doing this. Bruce lifted the message to his face and read over the signature written down at the bottom. His game with Selina was over now. All of that was behind them and lost in the city snow. 

A new game had already begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and post a few more by tomorrow but no promises <3


	25. White Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi yea hello
> 
> I'm painfully aware of how long this took to post and that it's way passed the holiday season but I hope that's okay?? I promise it's not hallmark movie Christmas special cheesy (though jay would disagree)
> 
> ily all and promise not to take a month again <3

Someone was playing a sorrowful tune on the organ.

Bruce was practically shaking when he exited the small closet space. He looked around himself in wait for someone to point out his situation, but no one appeared to have noticed. It seemed that for once he had been saved from some terrible drama scene, by the luck of whatever God was there. 

Slinking through the crowd to the center of the church where everyone appeared to have gathered, Bruce found his heart pounding faster with every second. He couldn't see Sylvia anywhere, and he had a feeling that he wasn't exactly welcomed by the others in the family. 

Despite his worry towards that, Bruce had to admit that he was glad there was no sign of Selina. Nobody appears to have noticed her existence, nor her abrupt leave. That was fine by him. No questions to be asked, and no questions to be answered.

A few people sniffled around him and dabbed their noses with handkerchiefs. Others wobbled about like they had drunk their weight before arriving to deal with the pain. Bruce wouldn't be shocked if that were the case.

Bruce, as silently as he could, rose up to see over their heads. He needed to find a safe space, and figure out where Sylvia went. For the time being she was the only one who he could rely on. 

In all truthfulness he felt horrible for leaving her in the dust like that. He knew in part that if he hadn't then Selina would have made a fuss, but that didn't help his guilt any more than usual.

"Excuse me," someone hissed from behind. 

Bruce paused, then lowered down. A woman holding a young boy - currently drooling all over her arm, having passed out long ago - grasped onto Bruce's sleeve and tugged him around. He couldn't tell if she was more red from anger or crying.

She held a striking resemblance to Albert. Her oval face and dark eyes matched his almost exactly, if only less aged. From Bruce's best guess he would have to say this was Albert's sister. 

"My apologies," he tried to whisper back; an attempt not to disturb the mourning guests or the peaceful boy on her shoulder. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

He was cut off by an abrupt scoff so loud that everyone in the area turned to look. Bruce felt heat creeping up his face. He hated social situations. 

"If you didn't want to disturb us then you wouldn't have come here," she hissed. 

Bruce scowled under his breath. "Again, I'm sorry-"

"What's the point, anyhow? Trying to look good for the press? Make yourself look less guilty? You should be ashamed of yourself."

So none of these people knew he was here on business. Well, was, he supposed, going by how his interaction with Sylvia was going so far. That was downright fantastic for him. 

Whispers ruffled the room about his appearance, and a few glares were shot his way. Bruce avoided each of them as best as he could. 

"I didn't mean to start anything here," he mumbled. "I just need to find Sylvia."

"What could you possibly need from Sylvia?" she spat, this time louder. 

Bruce had to stop himself from wiping the spit off of his cheek. His face pulled in concern when the kid started to move due to the noise. To his misfortune, the woman appeared to take deeper offense to this than anything. Her hand came up to protect the back of her child's head and pull him closer. 

"We aren't your charity case, Mr. Wayne. Just because you feel guilty doesn't give you the permission to meander about to make you _feel_ better."

"I heard he's getting sued," someone else popped up. Bruce only heard from his years of eavesdropping experience. 

"You're kidding me," someone gasped back. "If you ask me he deserves it."

Bruce croaked, and shook his head. Then, crinkling the paper for grounding, sighed and tried saying," _No,_ that's not-"

He cut himself off when the child opened his eyes and tried to move around. His mother grumbled and shot a glare at Bruce.

"See what you did? I just got him to sleep."

Feeling like he should keel over and die right then and there, Bruce only managed to sigh before backing away. He bumped in to someone else, so that backfired into trying to apologise to a sobbing niece and her angry parents. At that point Bruce couldn't even decipher one insult from the next. 

Bruce wished he carried as much authority without the armour as he did in it. There was just something about being out of it that left him naked. He felt so utterly awkward without it; like he couldn't find the right words to calm a mob. 

To be fair, if he used the Batman method there would certainly be more than a lawsuit coming his way. An arrest would fall into that category. 

In the back of his mind he couldn't help himself from thinking how nice it would have been to have support with him. A spindly arm resting around his shoulders while that loud mouth shut everyone up, then turning to smile at him in that annoyingly smug way while he teased Bruce. 

He sucked at being a Wayne. No other words needed. Even Alfred would have been able to say something eloquent yet demanding enough to get all of these people to calm once more. All Bruce wanted to do was yell out a command or shy into the corner. 

All he was good for was the pretty tabloid smile and memorising note cards.

"Madeline!"

Bruce and the crowd turned to the shout. All the chatter died off, other than the now bawling boy in her arms, to Bruce's chagrin. Everyone's sights fell on Sylvia standing tall in the doorway with her hands on her hips and her lips pressed tight.

"That is enough," she ordered.

He had to admit that he was impressed. Despite talking in a whisper, Sylvia's voice managed to put the whole room in order. It wasn't even interned towards Bruce, but even he felt like he had a wet blanket of guilt dripping around his shoulders. 

Her ending huff was enough to make everyone in there toeing at the floor like an embarrassed kindergartner.

Sylvia walked between everyone for a direct line to Bruce. She patted his arm as if he was the one who needed comforting - and how strange was that? the woman had just lost her husband and she was taking the time to comfort him - then pulled him out. 

"They should be ashamed of themselves," she mumbled just loud enough for some of them to hear.

_They have a point_ , Bruce wanted to argue, the words sitting on the edge of his tongue. If he could have seen this coming then Albert wouldn't be dead. It was his _job_ to see this coming, even if it was impossible.

"I'm sorry to have left you like that," Bruce said instead. 

Sylvia tsked and waved him off. "I'm not helpless, you know. I can stand to wait for a little while."

She quirked a brow at Bruce, and he had to hide a chuckle. He had some feeling that she and Alfred would get along wonderfully.

"Don't leave a widow waiting," she cooed. "Who was she, then? Your girlfriend?"

Selina's perfume was still lingering in his nose, and the memory of the soft touch of her lips on his was enough to make Bruce wince. Not because he missed it, or out of regret. 

It was more of a guilt, he thought. The flash of ache that came with kissing someone he knew he was not supposed to. It wasn't right. She wasn't right.

"No," he answered in a pointed voice that almost seemed to shock Sylvia. He corrected himself with a clearing of the throat. "Just an old friend. An acquaintance."

Sylvia hummed. Her arm had slinked it's way back into his, though, and Bruce found that he didn't mind. It was refreshing to help someone in a way that didn't require breaking another's arm first. 

They walked for a while more like that. She seemed like she needed a quiet stroll, away from the people's sad eyes and apologetic words. Bruce was probably one of the most understanding people when it came to that.

After sone time she turned on her heel to face him again. She looked around him to make sure they were out of ear shot, then asked in a small voice, "Can you keep a secret, Bruce?"

Bruce fumbled for his wording. His expression fell into something akin to deadpan despite the heavy confusion making his skin itch. 

"I can," he answered, although hesitant. 

"That's good," she murmered, almost to herself, to which Bruce had to strain to hear it. She tapped his knuckle. "If I tell you something, would you keep it for me?"

He narrowed his eyes. "We only just met. Are you sure that's wise? Especially with me, of all people?"

Sylvia thought about, then nodded her agreement. "As nice of a person you are, Bruce, I doubt we'll ever cross paths again. We lead very different lives, you and I. Telling you a secret is like telling the wind."

Bruce wished he could disagree. It was another one of those moments where he wished he was not Bruce Wayne. Where he was another normal Gothamite with a shitty job and a dirty studio apartment. Then he could ask her to coffee, if only to talk for a few minutes and ask how she was doing.

Yet he wasn't, and he couldn't, and she was more okay with that than Bruce would ever be. 

"Oh, don't look so sad," she told him and patted his cheek. "You're not even here for the funeral."

Bruce's smile grew a little, but his eyebrows pinched. Though not quite sure he was ready for whatever this was, he confirmed that Sylvia could continue.

Her expression lightened instantly. She hadn't even spoken a word and she already felt better about it. It must have truly been weighing her down by the way her entire body sagged from pure relief. 

Bruce felt something warm unfurl inside of him. He recognised it like a distant memory. A long time had passed since he had been able to provide someone solace in a comforting way, and Bruce's entire self was aching at the sight.

After leaning to check behind Bruce for peeping ears, Sylvia sighed and pressed her lips together. In a flash there was a paper being drawn out of her pocket much alike to Bruce's. 

"Go on. Take a look."

Bruce wanted to deny offer. The look in her eyes was enough to push him forward to do it. Besides, he had already given her permission to do this - to confide in him. Dropping it now might crush her. 

He unfolded them with a hand of precision. Stacks of papers all signed by both Sylvia and Albert. 

Divorce papers. They were divorce papers. 

Shaken, Bruce could only find it within himself to blink his astonishment. Sylvia chuckled and tucked them away again. 

"Close your mouth, dear, or you'll catch a fly."

Despite having it closed in the first place, Bruce still clenched his jaw like it hadn't been. Questions bubbled onto the surface of his mind with the topmost being _how could he not know this?_

Sylvia sensed his distress, but obviously didn't know why. She prattled on with a smile. "You're surprised."

Choking, Bruce practically scoffed his,"Well, yes."

Her hum echoed in the halls like they were standing directly in the cathedral's center. A shiver shot up Bruce's spine. 

"Albert and I decided last July that it was time," she proceeded as though it was a minor inconvenience. "He was seeing other people, and I was perfectly content on my own. We had been falling apart for years, mind you, so it wasn't like it hurt all that much. He had told me straight to my face without my asking."

Bruce nodded to show he was listening contently. He was listing all of this into his internal work files, but he was also completely entrapped in her words.

"He was busy all of the time near the end. The kids are in college, and I have my own life. It just seemed like the right path."

An almost clouded look came over her eyes. She pinched her expression tight, and started walking again. Bruce followed without any defiance.

Her posture had taken on something stiff. Bruce could see it in the way her steps seemed mechanical; like she was intentionally placing each foot in front of the other. 

"No one knows," he brought up once they were in the same step. Sylvia looked up to him with wide eyes. "Do they?"

She sucked in a breath. Her chest caught on it, so he looked behind her to avoid his gaze. Her line of sight went directly back to the gathering of all of these people. 

Tears gathered up on her lashes. Bruce could see them clear as day. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cloth for her, to which she accepted with gratitude.

"We were supposed to do it together," she let out in one breath. "After Christmas." 

Bruce felt his hands curling beside himself, itching to move, but he had no clue what for. Holding her hand or patting her shoulder wasn't his forte. It would have come off as forced and awkward if he had. 

His tongue was practically stuck to the roof of his mouth as he attempted to make up some sort of consoling statement. To his fortune, Sylvia spoke before he had time to. 

"Albert is still my best friend," she admitted so softly that Bruce struggled to hear it. "He always will be. And we did love each other. Whether it was romantic or platonic I can't say."

"But it was still love," Bruce whispered in a tone so hoarse it hurt his throat.

A lurch of sickness fell over Bruce thinking of a few people he could say he felt the same way for. Selena, and Talia, both of whom he had so easily fallen for only to see that it was not what he had imagined it to be. The perfect relationship; head over heels for them just because he was supposed to.

He had loved them, at some point or another. At least, Bruce assumed he had. He had stayed awake so many nights knowing they were out there in the streets, knowing they could handle themselves but wishing they would have stayed with him instead. Just for once. 

That's what he was told love is; _ache._ Loss and heart wrenching need and long nights filled with regret only for it all to be thrown out the window when they crawled back into bed after weeks without seeing their face. 

Sylvia's big eyes glanced up at him, and she smiled, watery and bottom lip quivering. "Yes."

Bruce returned it with a face of heavy confusion and a deep pit of uncertainty. He sniffed and turned away before she got to see much more. 

"Thank you," he mumbled. "For trusting me with this."

"Of course, Bruce," she said, as though she recognised how little honesty he tended to get. "Besides, it's not like you'll tell anyone. I'm sure your fancy friends wouldn't be interested in hearing widowed old lady gossip."

After he chuckled a little and agreed with that sentiment, Sylvia shot him a smile. Her palm splayed over his shoulder.

Bruce half smiled, but his expression fell when he looked to her again. There was no doubt in his mind that she was one of the most kind people he had ever met. She didn't deserve the backlash of his life. She shouldn't be at a funeral for a person he got killed. 

Sylvia caught the distress, and hummed a curious note. "Is everything alright?"

Bruce's breath hitched on the syllables forming a no, but never made it out. Of course he wasn't okay. He had just been visited in plain daylight by Selina Kyle to deliver a note saying that his- friend? Business partner? Associate? Bruce shook it off - that Joker was in trouble. 

He wasn't one hundred percent aware of what he was doing when he asked, "Can I tell you a secret too?"

Obviously he wasn't going to tell Sylvia about Batman or Joker, but he needed to tell someone something. If he couldn't tell Alfred, and they would never see each other again...

For a second she appeared surprised at the bluntness. Bruce's heart beat out of his chest in wait for her response. He relaxed immediately when she laughed. 

"I think that's only fair."

He wasn't entirely convinced that it was the right decision to spill his problems out, even vaguely, but her touch was so comforting and her smile was encouraging to a point that Bruce thought he might burst. 

Inhaling - it was shaking, rough in his lungs with the heaviness of a thousand words he could say but never would - and released his tension. Sylvia waited patiently as ever. Bruce could only huff.

"Have you heard of the Arkham project?" he started. 

Sylvia nodded. "Of course. I was on the bad side of twenty when it became the talk of the town."

Younger than Bruce's parents. He blinked. They had just hit around thirty five when the project pushed off, going by Bruce's own age. Sylvia was only about fifteen years older than Bruce. Somehow that felt like it was illegal. 

"What's with the look?" she popped up, and knocked Bruce under the chin. "I'm _kidding_! Go on, boy."

Bruce waved his hand. "I've been on the project and the Arkham Committee Board for over two decades. Ever since I was old enough to hold my own in a discussion, really. But..."

Frusteration boiled his blood, and Bruce took it out by grinding teeth. He shook his head. "No matter how much money I donate, or fundraisers I hold, or meetings with the _Mayor_ , not a thing changes because the control on Arkham hasn't."

"So it's true, then," Sylvia interrupted. Her eyes sparkled in wonder of Bruce's rant. "You really are trying to buy Arkham."

Bruce made a small face. He had almost forgotten that it wasn't fully disclosed to the public that those were his intentions. Donald had made it so that they were only rumours to the best of his abilities.

"Yes," he confirmed.

Sylvia took a small step as if analysing this, or about to start pacing, but all she did was cross her arms and humph. "Alright. Keep going, I'm listening."

He chewed out his growing anxiety, and sighed. "With the... with your situation, and the accusations of my involvement in it-"

"Utter crap."

"-my legal team has pulled me from the project. It's been in the works for years, and now it's being ruined until I have the public back on my side."

Sylvia blinked. "And your lawyers aren't doing anything to help with this?"

Bruce scoffed, then bit his lip. "No, they are. I'm sure you've heard about the Wayne Gala on New Year's?"

"Oh," she cooed. "So you're supposed to be... What? Consoling the people by word?"

"They are Gotham's finest, after all," Bruce scowled. "Anything they say spreads like wildfire."

"Really now? Because I certainly don't hear it."

Bruce's face fell from frusteration to shock, then replaced with a neutral expression. "What do you mean?"

Sylvia raised her brows up. She looked behind them to where the people were held up, and exhaled. Her eyes flicked back up to Bruce's. 

"The people hear absolutely nothing in this city," she tsked. "Unless it's broadcasted on the news or your neighbor has something on it, no one knows anything about the high life."

Translation being that no one would hear about Bruce's deal. If nobody backed him then there was no way he would be able to go through with Arkham.

"Don't look so down," she chuckled. Bruce looked away to avoid grumbling at her. "All you have to do is tell the people."

His interest perked, but he crushed it with a single thought. "The Gotham Gazette already announced it. They already know."

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "I'm an old lady and I'm more in the hype than you are!"

Bruce only figured he looked about as clueless as he felt, for Sylvia laughed and teased at him. 

"Do you really think that half of the citizens read the newspaper anymore?" she said. "There's television to tell them what they need now."

For someone who claimed he was intelligent, Bruce truly was oblivious. He loathed that he had no grasp on how society went. Once again proving that he is a terrible businessman.

"Alright. Then what am I supposed to do? Stand in front of Arkham and make some moving speech to the people?"

Despite his biting tone, Sylvia seemed nonetheless deterred. She shrugged, and gave him another genuinely sweet smile. 

"Why not?" she asked.

Bruce raised a brow, and chuckled out his concerns. He hated that he almost liked the idea. He liked it a little too much, actually. His smile fell to a scowl.

It might work.

Sylvia made a small noise to get Bruce back on her, and he swiveled to stare with wide eyes. Her chuckle was like a refreshing breeze in the midst of a humid day.

"Old people have good ideas sometimes too, y'know."

Puffing out of her nose, Sylvia straighted out, then offered up her arm, this time. Bruce looked at it for a second before taking it. He turned his head away to hide his smile. 

She led him down the same hallway they came from at a slow pace. This time around Bruce was able to let the setting sink in, and allow the white noise of the organ wash over him. When he looked at her she seemed to be doing the same.

He decided then and there that this could be chalked down as the best funeral Bruce had ever attended. He hadn't been able to stop the lawsuit - though he really didn't mind, but, at the very least, he had been able to relieve some pain from the woman's day. 

"It is fascinating," she spoke up.

Bruce waited for her to continue in patient silence. Sylvia hummed to confirm her own sentence, and looked up at him. 

"...How a perfect stranger can be the person you find the most comfort in during a time of need."

He blinked, and licked his lips, dry and cracked from the cold exterior. "One of life's true wonders."

"To think our chance encounter was supposed to be about business."

Bruce laughed, and squinted down at her through a charming smile. "I'm glad it wasn't. You know, to tell the truth, I was fairly nervous about how this was going to go."

"Oh, come now," she teased, and nudged him. "I'm not that intimidating, am I?"

"Happy to say that you aren't," Bruce added with a gentle poke back.

Compared to most of the people Bruce had met, she was absolutely perfect, though he didn't dare say it.

They walked by a clock on the way back. It was edging on three already. Bruce had been there for merely two hours, and he hadn't even noticed.

It was nice. Meeting people like Sylvia, even for a split second, was the exact distraction Bruce needed out of life sometimes. That, and a new perspective on his troubles always helped. 

He only wished they could meet again.

Sylvia glanced from the time to Bruce, then bit her lip. She was thinking over something. Most likely what to say next, he figured. 

Her arm slid out of Bruce's for the last time to link in front of herself. It was like letting go of something important. Bruce kept himself steady, but the loss stung nonetheless. 

Sylvia shuffled her feet, looking down at them, and huffed. "It is difficult. When everyone you know is grieving and all you want to do is feel better. To talk like everything is normal again."

Bruce's heart ached with the empathy of knowing what she meant. It is difficult to live life, to try and be happy again when all anyone wants to do is dote on or comfort your every move. Alfred had done that to Bruce constantly as a child. He still does at times. All Bruce had ever wanted was for someone to listen and tell him how the weather was. 

Just a few minutes without thinking of them.

"Thank for you listening to me," she ended. "And trusting me with your secret."

Although it broke him to do so, Bruce smiled. "I only wish I could make this better for you."

"Please, Bruce," she scoffed. Her eyes twinkled with her amusement. "I'm sure whatever money I get from the lawsuit will help me just fine."

He couldn't help but snort. Sylvia covered her own giggles with her hand. They sighed once, calmed, then stared at one another with soft expressions.

They each jumped when the clock rang out through the halls. It struck right through Bruce's heart so suddenly he was afraid it might have stopped. 

Bruce gulped down the lump in his throat when he looked back at Sylvia. She smiled, though he could tell it was forced. He could only assume she felt about the same way.

There was a solid chance that he would never see Sylvia Cunningham again. So many people he had passed in his lifetime, and all of them could have played a key role, if not for Bruce's status and night life. He only wished she could be one of them.

After spilling their guts to eachother it was practically signed that they were never to speak again. The whole point of the secrets was that they had no contact with eachother, and therefore no one to tell. If they were to stick close then they were ticking bombs waiting to implode. 

To confirm this, Bruce found that he could only think of her advice while looking at Sylvia. He had no doubt that she could only see Albert while looking at him. It would kill them both to see that.

"You have to go."

Bruce's tongue tied in his mouth on the words he didn't have the courage to speak. She was so defiant in telling him what he couldn't do. Sylvia was one of the bravest people Bruce had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and he would never forget that. 

"Yes," he confirmed, though the word felt bitter coming out.

Sylvia quirked her mouth to the side. "Don't look so sad, Bruce. Wouldn't want the reporters to see through that facade, would we?"

He grumbled, though silently shocked at her revelation, but only nodded his agreement. He startled when she took his hand and squeezed it with her thumb stroking along the back. 

Bruce's bones felt very frail in that instant.

"I do hope your little business problem can be fixed."

He pulled himself back from the sensation to click his tongue. A part of him hoped his smile appeared less fake than it felt. 

"Thank you," he mumbled. Deciding it was time to turn the tables, he shifted his hands so they were cupping her's. "The same goes to you."

Sylvia's eyes were once again shining, though Bruce could tell that it was no longer from sadness. Before he could register he felt a pair of small arms wrapped around his neck.

Bruce wasn't entirely certain how to react. Alfred was sweet, and he loved him, but it was a rare occasion that hugs came along. Even as touchy as he was, the Joker had never embraced Bruce for anything more than a ploy. 

This being the case, his hands hovered just over Sylvia's back. She chuckled a little, and rubbed his, mumbling,"It's alright, Bruce. I don't bite."

Feeling almost guilty now, Bruce did as he was told, but his posture steadily relaxed. He allowed himself an inaudible sigh as he closed his eyes and clutched on to her sweater.

Sylvia unlatched herself from him and fell back to her heels. She tilted her head. Within the same second she had turned stone cold serious with her hands on her hips, and her chin pointed up. 

"I'm not going to say goodbye to you."

Bruce croaked out his questioning noise, then said,"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Sylvia answered pointedly. "I'm not going to say goodbye to you, and you aren't going to say goodbye to me."

Why was Bruce surprised? There always had to be something to make matters difficult. He sighed, and his eyes drooped. 

He did have to go. Her advice had been the puzzle piece to connect the problems he had together. Specifically the ones directed towards Joker. If he didn't get on his plans soon he wouldn't get much of a chance to go through with them.

Sylvia tapped her foot on the floor, staring at Bruce, then reached into her pocket. Bruce's hand was brought up and the tip of her pen was already writing by the time he knew what she was doing.

"And why is- Uh," he said, and stared down at the phone number inked onto his palm. 

In the back of his mind he could hear Joker's mocking, _"Flattering, but she's a bit too_ ripe _for you, don't you think?"_

Bruce had just enough coffee left in his system to not tell off the apparition.

"As long as you have my number, I will not say goodbye to you. I want you to call me at least once. I don't care when, if it's tomorrow or twelve more years, but my door is always open for you. Understand?"

Sylvia smiled in that way that had slowly calmed Bruce's nerves, and patted his palm. His heart swelled some at the sentiment, but it deflated as soon as he remembered why that doesn't matter. 

What was he supposed to say? Sorry, no can do, my general presence in your life might get you killed? I already got Albert murdered and we haven't even met yet? _I'm working side by side with Gotham's most notorious clown serial killer?_

"I'll keep that in mind," he said instead, and flashed her a plastic smile.

This time around Sylvia didn't appear to notice it. She tilted her head up, and opened the door. December air hit them hard in the face, and each shivered as a chill ran down their spines.

"I'll talk to you later, Bruce," Sylvia worded carefully. 

Bruce had to chuckle, though it stung his lungs to do so. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the news crew setting up again, but decided it better not to tempt fate this time. 

"Yeah," he lied swiftly, and crinkled his eyes at Sylvia. He walked back out into the iced cathedral parking lot.

"Talk later."


	26. Christmas Eve

[DAY 16 - WEEK 3 - 4:37 PM ]

Pacing the entirety of his cell was like his own personal form of torture. 

With the amount of times he had done it by then, Joker had assumed there would be some sort of indent where he had walked; like a trail in the snow. 

A few hours had passed since his hands had cramped from gripping files. He could easily say that he could no longer feel them. Though that was, admittedly, somewhat annoying, the way his hips and feet were aching were far more of an inconvenience. Not to mention his eyes. They might as well have been burnt up.

Lockdown was not being kind to Joker. For once the Arkham guards weren't the problem. They had been doing their job as told. Check ins, medications, and food had been coming in right on schedule. It was genuinely worrying Joker at this point, but he wasn't going to complain and risk it. Not after his little incident with possibly Mabel and her gang of low life's last week.

His neck was still bruised from that. So far his biggest bank of luck had been that he didn't have to show off the sweet new bruises to the other inmates. Otherwise, Joker was fucked.

There had been no news about Bruce. After that letter was sent out Joker had been stuck to wait in the absolute despair of uncertainty. Just as that old janitorial bastard had said, he wasn't doing anything else for Joker. It seemed that simply telling Joker that the note was received fell into that category as well.

For all Joker was aware, Bruce was dead, and he wouldn't know until some passerby mentioned it.

The guards seemed somewhat put off by Joker's silence. They weren't all that used to him shutting up for more than an hour, and at this point it had been days. Other than the occasional jeer when Brad - assigned name from Joker himself, though recently discovered his name is Eli - dropped off his morning pills, he kept to himself.

Most of it was the fact that his throat was raw. The choke out had been more aggressive than that of a hand or arm, so he was forced to suffer through it. Swallowing water was difficult enough.

He couldn't very well ask about any pain killers either. That would only lead to another disaster, and that he knew for a fact. 

The coughing wasn't much help. He kept waking up with ragged breathing that ended up catching the wrong way almost every time he slept.

As for what caused the breathing, Joker wasn't much inclined to talk about. At all. To anyone.

He had been pouring over every article from the last week for any evidence that Bruce could be in evident danger. Nothing helped. They were all old papers, so it wasn't like they would tell Joker if Bruce was okay.

In the end it was no shocker that he had ended up dreaming about it.

Joker could practically smell Bruce's blood when he had woken up. The copper scent was burning his nose and his body felt weak from heavy tremors. The blood being Bruce's wasn't obvious, but dreams never truly are, he doesn't think. So, he put it up to his own interpretation.

This went on for a few unpleasant naps, then nights, and finally to the decision to avoid sleep all together. 

Truthfully, Joker felt sick. He had not so much as closed his eyes in forty six hours, and the weight of that was clearly taking a toll on his physical state. If asked he would say that his mind was sharp as ever, but he was tipping, and he knew it.

Joker scrubbed his face. For once he wished he was better at growing facial hair, and damned the acid for ruining his chances of looking like every other prisoner. He would look so much more cool if he came off as one of those guys with the patchy stubble to match his gaunt complexion and deep eye bags. Instead he looked like a nauseous Victorian child with long legs.

How intimidating.

Two days of no sleep and lack of decent food were making Joker weak. His mind would not shut off. Other than more than three second blanks of nothing, it continued to prattle on about nonsense he never allowed himself to think about. Usually Bruce. 

Always Bruce.

Joker berated himself as he once again made a track to the end of the wall and back. Bruce was fine. There would have been some big commotion about it outside, and even locked down Joker would have heard about it.

He messed with his hair again as he repeated that mantra to himself. 

He had begun to do that - tugging at his hair. It had always been a habit, but the last month of being cooped up without Bruce had made the motion more prominent than ever. 

Even with that persistent motion, the reassurances slipped off of his lips in silent calm. _Bruce would be fine._ His expression hardened as he continued this, and the pulling became harder in every repeat.

It was funny; the mere thought that Bruce could be killed so easily. As if he would let his guard down for that long. It was ironic, and bitter, and all of the elements that would usually put Joker in a bright mood with a huge smile cracking his face in two. 

Except this was serious, and he was not good with serious, and thinking about it made his stomach twist into so many knots he almost thought he might be sick. This didn't even begin to describe the overwhelming twinges in his pulse. 

This was a cruel joke that he would have found hilarious on any other day. If any of this were directed at any other person, Joker would have laughed until it hurt too much to breathe.

He was _not_ worried about Batman. 

The Joker had never been worried about anyone in his entire life, and that was a simple fact from as far back as he can recall. 

Worrying over the Batman. He really was insane, if that was his case. An absolute nut job. He deserved to be institutionalised. 

It wasn't Batman, though, it was Bruce. Joker was aware that they were the same person, but that did not cease the gnawing ache that had been growing in his gut ever since he sent out that note.

The map to the Arkham cave was practically mocking Joker. He knew that was unreasonable, being a literal piece of scrap paper, but it still felt like a direct taunt. He stuck his tongue out as though it could possibly react, feeling childish, but continued to pout. 

It wasn't like he could go there. Bruce had entrusted him with the location for emergencies only, _not_ because Joker was feeling a tinsy bit of cabin fever.

Yeah. Cabin fever. This wasn't worry, it was simply the jitters from being stuck in one place too long. He was bouncing off the walls wanting to go up against his favorite Bat.

If he was still alive, that is.

Joker groaned, and fell back onto his cot. Somehow the little voice sounded just like the very man he was dreading to think about. Even his inner monologue was working against him.

He pushed his hair back from his forehead where it was greasy with sweat. Something bitter tugged at his lips, and he knew instantly that he was nothing like the smiles he so often wore. A small, strangled sound made its way out of his raw throat. He assumed it to be a laugh. 

It wasn't. 

Harley and Ivy were dead if Bruce didn't make it. In fact, Joker decided, his arms dropping down to his sides, every damn person in Gotham would suffer. 

On auto pilot, Joker reached for a stuffed toy that wasn't there. He stared at the spot where his Batman merch used to be, feeling a tightness creeping up his throat.

Avery would be first on the list. 

He glanced over at the paper cup of water left for him. It tasted like they got it right from Croc's layer, but his mouth was dryer than the desert and he needed something to change the pace of things - calm him down some.

His eyes drooped while he sat down in front of it. Joker picked it up and swished it around. Avery probably gave him bad water just for the sake of making him miserable. What a bitch. 

Joker downed the contents just to spite her.

A little drop fell on the tabletop. For a second nothing happened. Then, all at once, Joker set down the cup with a little too much force, slammed his chin down on the table, and glared at the droplet like it was the source of all of his problems.

Bruce would say something nice right about now. Revising, Bruce would not say something nice, but rather something aggravated but nonetheless motivational. That was something Joker could use in that moment. 

He supposed it didn't matter exactly what Bruce said. As long as _Bruce_ said it then Joker was all set. 

Joker wiped off the water by placing his arm over it, then rested there. He felt the weight of his eyelids take over, and sighed when they finally closed. It felt like he hadn't blinked in years.

There was more blood. Usually that didn't bother him in the slightest, but the sticky feeling on his palms and the smell of it were so strong that he felt he could wretch.

It didn't help that Joker knew exactly whose it was. He didn't need to see the body to know. His mind kept whispering the name, reminding him persistently.

_Bruce._

Joker's entire body temperature dipped. He considered that he had fallen into the lake again, pushed and drowning under the icy surface, hoping that Bruce would come down and drag his frozen limbs back to the ground - but there was no water, and he could breathe fine.

Oh, and Bruce was dead, of course. That put a damper on the whole being saved part. 

He shivered harder than he had in years. The mere memory of being in that water was enough to make his teeth start chattering.

Everything was dark. He tried walking through it, but the ground was wet with rain and he didn't have shoes on. He bumped into something. Or, rather, _someone._

"Hey," said that voice, the one that instantly made Joker warm and caused his smile to go soft,"what are you doing up? Get back to bed."

Joker's throat closed up when Bruce turned to face him. The concern on his face was completely covered by blood from a deep wound in his hairline. The cowl was shattered, and pieces were sticking out from his otherwise perfect face.

"Bruce," Joker meant to ask, but it came out as more of a sharp, chattering chuckle.

Bruce didn't appear to hear him. He placed a palm to Joker's cheek, and tsked that noise he made when he was caught up on something.

"You're frozen," he grumbled, as though annoyed with himself for letting it happen.

Joker could have thawed out at the very notion. He went to speak, but Bruce's reddened hands were facing him back towards the darkness.

"Appreciate the concern, darling," he chattered - quite literally, if the clack of his teeth had any say - "but I'm more worried about you."

"Go to bed, Joker," Bruce ignored again with a forceful push into a seat. "You need rest."

Joker jumped up. 

Bruce was gone. It wasn't dark anymore - maybe even too bright - and his hands were free of blood. He flipped them over a few times to check. Not a speck was there.

His entire body jolted when the knock on his door repeated. Joker rubbed his bleary eyed eyes to squint at it, practically daring for whoever it was to do it again. His shirt felt suffocating.

In a way his glaring had worked. The guard didn't knock again. For one glorious moment Joker thought they had left. Then, ruining his fun, the door slid open. 

The files were still out.

Joker leapt in front of the door where it had been partially opened. Using his foot, Joker stopped it where it was. He leaned as casually as he could on the wall.

The guard stared at him through that annoying helmet they all wore to keep prisoners from kicking them in the face. They weren't completely resistant, though. Brute force could shatter it whole.

Joker resented them. His job would be a lot easier if he could simply see Mabel.

"Can I do something for you?" he cooed, and flashed a grin.

A hand flew over his face, and shoved. Joker's already fraying nerves heightened above average level, and he suddenly felt instinct kick in. 

"Hands off the patients," he chuckled, and inched back to where he had stashed someone's baton. "Staff rules."

Joker was aware that the state of him did nothing to prove this point.

The guard closed the door behind themself. It clicked shut; the telltale sign to the latch falling in place. They were locked in. A hand snuck back behind them, reaching for their own weapon. Joker's stomach dropped.

At least he got some rest before a fight.

\----

This was the longest amount of time he had had to stay in character in years.

Character was the only way Bruce felt comfortable with referring to his life as Wayne. Otherwise he would have to admit that he had a life outside of Batman, the cave, and Joker. That was too much to handle, at that very moment.

_"Citizens of Gotham,_

Joker, of course, was the only reason he was doing this. After a long walk thinking about Sylvia's advice - Alfred had smacked him when Bruce came back close to frostbitten - he had come up with an idea that might just work.

It took planning, though what scheme of Bruce's didn't? He had stayed up all night after the funeral working through every detail he needed done for the process. 

It turned out that it wasn't the most difficult of tasks Bruce had had, especially among those he had made lately. It seemed thay all that was needed were a few business meetings.

_"As I'm sure you've heard, there have been rumours around about my personal agendas."_

As it turns out, that was where Bruce hit a bump. He wasn't great with business meetings. They took hours of paperwork and talking with dull lawyers in which Bruce had to keep up a perfect Wayne persona. It was pure hell. Bruce would rather be tortured than endure a second week of that. 

To his luck, he didn't have to choose either option.

At first it had taken a lot of convincing. Donald had been nervous about it, but by now Bruce figured that he was nervous about everything. A simple phone request turned into a four hour private meeting that took every ounce of Bruce's will to survive.

It really brought some perspective on how useful finger breaking was.

Donald had resigned to calling a board meeting for the next day. Anxious glances were exchanged the whole conversation, but Bruce didn't budge.

That single night of break gave him time to investigate the security cameras around the jeweller's again. Nothing of importance came up on the block around the store, so he would have to check in on the surrounding buildings later. He had passed out before he had a chance to do so.

_"Today I'm here to acknowledge some of these rumours._

The pitch went over smoother than Bruce had even hoped. The board agreed to make it happen, which led into a very long set of advising to set everything up. 

He hated business more than any other time in his life. The entire process he had to remind himself of the end result just to get through the process.

Bruce half considered writing in a thanks to Sylvia. He felt almost obligated to. She was the one who made all of this possible. Her suggestion was what made Bruce feel like he could pull this off in the first place.

He didn't do it, in the end. Though she was important, the rest of Gotham would only see it as Bruce wanting to cover up Albert's murder. 

Sylvia would know Bruce appreciated her just by going through with it. That would have to be enough for him, for now. Maybe he would send her flowers.

A week passed. His board suggested that it should take place on a holiday to reflect the date of the gala. That way the message would stick. An added plus being that it was the perfect amount of time in between the announcement, so no one would forget.

_"The Arkham Project was originally made by my parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne. The goal was to reform the facility into something safe for the patients and citizens of Gotham."_

The face of the project would go over well. Bruce had memorized his script, gone over every answer to any questions that might be thrown his way, and prepared for any problems that might pop up during.

It wasn't the same for his actual intentions. There were a few parts that he was nervous about. Years had passed since he had been in any mission like this, and none of them had involved any risks like this.

Oddly, Bruce was thankful that it was freezing out there. Since he was the one giving the speech he was not able to wear a big jacket like the rest of them. He had to look 'presentable,' according to the advisors. _'No one will ever listen to someone in bad attire.'_ It had reminded Bruce heavily of Alfred.

That, and his nervous tremors would be construed as shivering.

Christmas Eve, and he was standing in front of the gates of Arkham. Alfred did not approve of this idea, and had voiced that opinion multiple times. The absence of his presence there made this more prominent than ever.

Bruce had to remind himself that this was for Alfred's safety too. This was the most risky move he had pulled so far. He could not get Alfred involved now. If he was angry with Bruce for that, then so be it. 

His numb fingers grasped the podium. The people below pointed each of their cameras and scribbled down in their notebooks or devices. Twelve microphones were in his face. 

Most of Gotham's citizens were watching what he said. He wondered whether Sylvia was one. He definitely hoped so. Her motherly smile printed in Bruce's mind, he continued,

"Obviously my parents had not accounted for the numerous costumed criminals our city has," 

Bruce chuckled, elated when that received a laugh. It would have been tremendously embarrassing if it hadn't. 

"After their deaths-" he gave a moment of silence to sink in. Everyone frowned at the memory, as he had hoped, though it also served to break his stride. Bruce breathed in.  
"-the project had come crashing down. For years now Arkham's security and safety measures have been rapidly declining. 

Inmates are killed, raped, and beaten on a daily. Guards and doctors are also at risk of injury from unstable patients. The medications and equipment have been outdated for years, so the workers have next to nothing to work with. Walls are breaking while the fences are degrading to rust. 

The Arkham Project was made for this reason; to reform this facility from the ground up. However, funding has done virtually nothing to help without a hand in how it is used. These people are a danger to everyone, including themselves."

"What are you saying here, Wayne?" spoke up a reporter in the front. All eyes seemed to sharpen on Bruce.

He sighed, and his red knuckles turned white. He leaned in to the microphones, addressing everyone all at once with a strict eye of authority.

"With the support of Gotham's citizens, I, Bruce Wayne, would like to use my hand by purchasing Arkham Asylum to keep a steady eye o-"

Whatever his next words were did not matter. Questions were being thrown at him left and right, some angry and some simply curious, but Bruce couldn't have picked one from the next if he tried. Everyone drowned the other out. Visitors were making a stir behind the police bars. 

Clearing his throat, Bruce spoke louder,"The annual Wayne New Year's Gala will also be a charity ball for the new Arkham Project. Anyone who is interested will be able to donate and pitch in-"

There was a shout that cut Bruce off. Someone from the crowd had attempted to climb over the barricades to advance him. They were screaming about Albert Cunningham, which, right away, gained the attention of the news. 

Bruce needed an uproar. Something to get him away for some amount of time, at the very least. He had suggested allowing citizens to come watch for this exact reason. 

Right on time, a hand found his shoulder. Bruce looked over in his best expression of mock surprise to find a security guard guiding him off of his stand and away from the crowd. His stomach sank seeing the man walking with him.

Damn. He was hoping to get someone easy. 

They were standing close to the docks. The officer assigned to watching Bruce dropped his hand, scratched the back of his head, then looked away quickly.

Not so far away Bruce could still hear the demands of the people to talk with him. From the looks of it more had shown up demanding answers. He looked at the bumbling officer.

"Thank you," Bruce smiled at him in his usual playboy tactic. "I appreciate your help." 

The officer reacted with a small, shy smile of his own. Bruce held back a disbelieving scoff. Well if that wasn't luck, he didn't know what was. Still, he figured, best to keep on and see where it leads.

"If you don't mind, though, I'd like to continue what I started here. The people demand their answers, you know."

The officer's mouth fell open like he was trying to decide if that was a good idea or not, then stuttered, "I don't know if that would be all too safe, Mr. Wayne, sir."

"It's Bruce," he said without much thought, but the officer turned a light pink anyhow. Bruce smirked.

"Look, I get it. You're supposed to be protecting me, and all that. If you think I'll be safer, I can wait for an hour, then come back when everyone has calmed down. I have to speak with the warden anyway."

That much was the truth. Bruce did technically have to speak with the warden.

The officer still appeared somewhat suspicious. Bruce chuckled, and brought up his sweetest smile.

"There are guards in there too." Bruce placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I promise I'll be fine. That is, if you're worried about me?"

Looking at Bruce's hand, the officer gulped, ears red, and shook his head. "It's just, I don't know if we can get them under control-"

Bruce looked down at his feet with a sheepish chuckle, then looked up through his lashes. "I'm sure you are perfectly capable of handling a few normal citizens. Right?"

The implications of that only made the officer look more ready to jump out of his skin.

"Tell you what: I'm going to go inside, and you're going to go handle those people. Then we'll meet back here in one hour. How does that sound..." Bruce paused to reach out and grasp the silver plate on his chest,"...Gabriel?"

The officer was speechless at this point, so his response was a very stiff nod. He croaked something, to which Bruce quirked a brow, then simply staggered back to the crowd with a more confident stride in his step.

Bruce felt almost bad for the guy. He would have to figure out how to break it to him that that they couldn't be anything. It wasn't like he was bad looking, he just wasn't- He didn't-

Bruce scowled, shoulders sagging, and pushed his hair back from his face again. Now wasn't the time to be getting distracted by misplaced words.

He went down the docks the moment Gabriel was out of sight. The old wood rattled with his footsteps, but Bruce didn't have time to be careful. 

At the edge of the dock was a set of crates. He knelt down and pried them apart. Looking around once more, he saw no one around. The slight hole in the dirt stared back up at him, the ladder rolled up for use. It wasn't too steep, though, and he didn't want to waste more than he needed to.

Much alike to going down a waterslide, Bruce's stomach leapt up to where his heart was supposed to be. His legs tingled when he landed.

He would have to find some way to block off all underground tunnels leading throughout Arkham, he realised as he started to run down the damp tunnel.

This had been one of the escape routes Joker had pointed out. Bruce had never used it previous to this, but apparently it was a direct line to the intensive wing.

Bruce faltered outside of the directed opening. Reaching inside of his blazer, Bruce pulled out a small box, gift wrapped with a - now crushed - bow on top. He flipped it over in his hands, chewed on his cheek, then rolled his eyes. 

Was he seriously hesitating over some stupid gift? He was acting like a teenager. As if Bruce hadn't given Joker a gift before.

Grumbling at himself, Bruce pushed open the hatch and slid out into the room. Just as described, Bruce found himself in a confined section of wall where a hallway had been in the works. 

Ducking down behind the corner, Bruce was able to see through the obviously loosened grate. A guard was walking by. 

This was where Bruce truly felt out of his element. On one hand he was proving a point by doing this. The guards really needed some work. On the other hand, he did not want to encourage how easy it was for the inmates to escape.

Feeling the gift, Bruce bit back his negative remarks. Oh well. This was for an important cause. 

Pulling in the grate - first things to fix, Bruce noted - he tugged off his tie, then waited. The moment the guard's foot came into view Bruce wrapped the material around their ankle and tugged. There was a short swear followed by the thud of the guard falling. 

Bruce dragged them inside, immediately putting them in a chokehold. They struggled for the minutes it took for them to pass out, but it didn't do much against Bruce's strength. 

Once it was over with, Bruce wiped his palms on his trousers. Looking over the guy, it appeared that the uniform would be a bit snug, but it would work well enough for his purposes.

Bruce climbed out of the grate dressed head to toe in the - thankfully dressed underneath - guard's armour. He had considered the security cameras, but if Bruce was quick to move then it didn't matter. No one would be able to identify him as different at that point even if they had been watching.

The hallway's direction panel told him he was not far from intensive care. Only a few blocks down, in fact. It seemed that everything Joker had put on his map had been completely accurate. The thought made Bruce huff.

It was muscle memory from that first corner. Bruce knew the direction to Joker's cell like he knew the ins and outs of the bat cave. He had to force himself to walk more slow in opposition to the need to get there much faster.

He didn't even notice he had gotten to the door when his legs stopped moving. Bruce grabbed the guard's ID card, ready to open the door, but stopped short.

This was a terrible idea. 

What was he even doing? Visiting the Joker in Arkham as Wayne? Joker was right all along. Bruce was absolutely loony. Not only was he outside of the suit, he was casually stopping by to check up on a murderous clown. He spent a _week_ planning it. 

On a positive note, the end result for the Arkham Project could be spectacular. 

Bruce turned his back on the door, and closed his eyes. Alfred would have talked some sense in to him if he hadn't been stupid enough to keep secrets from him. This was just going to fuck everything up.

The note, though. Joker had said they were both in danger. Bruce had to know what that was about. If he didn't know what he was looking out for then he couldn't very well protect himself, right? Right.

He was looking out for dangers all the time though. It was precisely Bruce's job to watch out for any threats against his own or other's lives. He already had the ideas of Mabel and Arkham anyhow.

Bruce held back a frustrated groan, then fell back against the door. Couldn't anything be easy? He just had to make his own life a complete mess.

Bruce snapped up when he heard shuffling inside. The thought that his landing on the door must have made noise flitted through his brain, and Bruce scowled. He turned back around.

When no other noise came, Bruce made a half hearted knock on the door. His tension was beginning to form a knot in his neck. Might as well get it over with if he had already made the mistake of coming.

The ID card beeped in recognition, then the door's slides came up. Bruce pushed open the door, grimacing when it scraped against the cement floor, then abruptly stopping when something got in the way.

And there he was. 

Joker smiled up at Bruce from where he was leaning on the wall. His eyes were as bright as ever despite the gaunt look of his cheeks. 

"Can I do something for you?" he drawled in that way he did when he was trying to get something - or avoid it.

Bruce made a tiny noise to begin with, but was interrupted by the sound of shuffling down the hall. Someone was coming in for their round. 

Or looking for him.

Without thinking Bruce reached out and shoved Joker inside by the face. He had done it many times before in the cave, and Joker had always laughed at it like it was the funniest thing Bruce had ever done. The defensive stance he had taken up now was not even close to the same. 

Bruce made to shut the door fast. Joker was speaking to him, saying something about the staff, but he was too busy keeping them secluded to hear it. He made to remove his vest, the squeeze of it strangling him, but it must have come off wrong. 

Joker was fast. He always had been, moreso than him, if Bruce were to admit to that. There was a baton hitting Bruce right where the guard's uniform had a crack, and he growled.

Of course they had to get into a fight. This was perfect. Exactly how he had expected it to go.

"Jok-"

Joker swung. Bruce held up a forearm to protect his face mask from breaking, then held out a leg to keep Joker away for long enough to move.

Joker never acted like this in Arkham. He attacked, and laughed, then joked about the weakness of the hits coming to him. He wasn't _hostile._ He looked like an animal protecting itself from predators.

Joker swung his arm out in one slick motion. The baton extended to full length, then spun into Joker's hands so that he was able to jab Bruce right in the torso.

Bruce wheezed, but managed to grab the stick and twist Joker away, then push him back. They both stood facing each other, panting. 

Knowing Joker, talking wasn't going to put an end to this, even though Bruce wanted nothing more than to do just that. So, lowering to a crouch as he often did against mortal enemy, Bruce pounced at the clown's midsection.

Sidestepping, Joker's steps faltered. Bruce had figured he would try to move, but the delay in the action had been too great.

They clambered to the ground in a great huff. Bruce didn't move at all, prepared for Joker to come in with some calculated move. Bruce slowed while he tried to comprehend why it wasn't coming. 

Joker hadn't expected Bruce's lunge. He always expected the next move.

Squirming underneath Bruce's hands, Joker tried to kick up and hit him with the baton, but Bruce twisted the hand to the ground and sat his full weight onto Joker. The weapon clattered to the ground. 

The second of hope Bruce had was broken when Joker twisted out and elbowed Bruce's neck. The hit got him just enough time to slither away and back towards the weapon.

"Damn it, Jay," Bruce spat, and scrambled over. His hands fisted in to Joker's orange shirt and pushed into the wall. Using a free hand to quickly remove the helmet, he snarled,"Will you stop moving for one second?"

Joker froze. His entire body went still, arms falling and legs no longer kicking. He blinked up at Bruce, who was glaring down at him with his previously perfect hair now matted to his forehead. The press was going to have a field day with this one. 

"Bruce," Joker exhaled, though he seemed to be having trouble understanding it. 

It was then that Bruce got a good look at Joker. If he had thought that last time was bad, he was more than sorely mistaken.

There was a patch of ugly purples and yelling around a less so but previously swollen eye. Red marks littered his neck. His shirt was dried in sweat, and his hair reflected that with the way it clung to his face. 

Bruce had a list of 'should have' building up. He should never have made Joker come here in the first place. He should have made daily check ins like the original plan. He should have ignored what his planning advisor said about holidays. He should have seen what these people were doing and beaten the life out of them once and for all. Most of all,

"I should have come sooner," he sneered as hot fury bubbled in his veins. "I should have come in time to stop this, and help with the investigation, and I should have-"

The soft, rough chuckle coming from below him interrupted Bruce's tirade. His face fell flat watching as Joker's eyes closed with his growing laughter. 

It sounded like it hurt, but still didn't stop. Bruce almost told him to. Still, he knew, it wouldn't have worked even if he did. 

"I- I'm so- pf- I'm so sorry, I-" Joker wheezed and breathed in two harsh breaths. 

There it was. The annoying part that Bruce always seemed to forget when it came to talking with this guy. He could never get right to the point. Rage boiling down, Bruce frowned. 

"Don't start," he groaned. 

This only served to make Joker start giggling harder, an occasional snort interrupting when he couldn't get in a proper breath.

"I- I thought- Eheh- I thought you-" 

Bruce rolled his eyes. He suddenly remembered why he used to miss the silence. His fists started unfurling from the prison uniform. "Spit it out, Jay."

Joker inhaled one ragged breath, opened his eyes, and grinned so gently that Bruce was afraid that he might be dreaming again. 

Was it even possible for an unapologetic killer to look so soft? It didn't seem like it. Yet the proof was right in front of his eyes. 

Bruce supposed that it shouldn't be possible for an emotionally dead vigilante to visit his esteemed enemy on Christmas either, but there he was. This wasn't even the first time it'd happened.

"I had just been thinking," Joker fumbled. His hands reached up to tug at his hair,"that you might be dead, and I wouldn't have known for shit."

Concern overpowered the strong need to let go of the clown, and Bruce tightened his hold once more - no longer wanting to let him go.

What the hell happened this week?


End file.
